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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22631254">An Instrument of Grace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis'>aurora_australis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Case Fic, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:54:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22631254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A suspicious death, past mistakes, and the sudden arrival of an old friend combine to send Phryne and Jack down a path they never thought they’d travel and one they might regret forever.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>245</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I actually started this story about nine months ago, plotted it out, wrote the first chapter and then, just... stopped. I don't even remember why, I just did. Then I was thinking about it again recently and decided that I really did want to finish it, and somehow managed to do so right under the wire before canon blasts it out of the water. Huzzah!</p>
<p>Thank you, thank you, thank you to Fire_Sign for talking through the original idea with me months ago and then for the beta read once it was done, and to whopooh who re-sparked my desire to write it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Phryne surveyed the room, looking for anything out of place.</p>
<p>Obviously the dead body on the floor counted, but she was hoping for something slightly more subtle.</p>
<p>She had finished examining the bookshelf and moved on to the desk when she heard it. Or, more accurately, heard <em>him</em>. Low, commanding tones coming from the outer room. An unmistakable timbre that had her straightening her posture and smoothing her hair. </p>
<p>A moment later he appeared. </p>
<p>He was surprised to see her, obviously, but he hid it well. At least from everyone who wasn’t her. Everyone who didn’t know him quite so well. </p>
<p>They’d had experience with this by now after all, and didn’t feel the need to add any more fuel to the gossip fires.</p>
<p>As he entered - along with a constable she did not recognize - he nodded, his manners impeccable as usual. But he did not speak. </p>
<p>So Phryne did. </p>
<p>“Hello Inspector,” she said quietly.</p>
<p>“Miss Fisher,” he acknowledged, moving closer to examine the body. “I didn’t realize you were working this case.”</p>
<p>“His wife is friends with my aunt,” she explained. “When Mrs Beasley discovered her husband dead in his locked study she phoned me immediately.”</p>
<p>“After the police, naturally.” His tone was somewhere between irritated and resigned.</p>
<p>“Naturally. But if I’d known you were assigned the matter, I’m sure I could have left it to you. Aunt Prudence trusts you implicitly after all.”</p>
<p>Jack nodded again, the muscles in his jaw working much harder than necessary for the act, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to kick her out. Ultimately, though, he just turned away from her to crouch down and look more closely at the unfortunate Mr Beasley. It seemed he was opting for simply ignoring her while he worked. He probably considered the fuss Prudence Stanley might make if he expelled her niece from the scene and decided it wasn’t worth the headache. </p>
<p>Recognizing the tactic for what it was, Phryne kept to herself as well and no more words were spoken as the two worked, synchronized in their movements which ensured they stayed at least four feet apart at all times. The unknown constable looked nervous, like the dance might turn volatile, but it remained cool and professional.</p>
<p>Finally, the silence was broken by a little “hmmm” from Phryne. </p>
<p>Jack looked over and tilted his head. “Did you find something, Miss Fisher?”</p>
<p>“Mr Beasley was in an accident recently, correct?”</p>
<p>“He was. A car accident last week, according to his wife.”</p>
<p>“And he was prescribed laudanum for the pain?” She held up a little bottle, shaking it slightly. “Seems quite a lot missing for such a short time.”</p>
<p>Jack narrowed his eyes, then quickly returned to the desk where he opened a drawer he’d looked through already and pulled out a pair of glasses. Broken glasses.</p>
<p>“If he was measuring it himself…”</p>
<p>“He might have been too generous…”</p>
<p>“And accidentally killed himself.”</p>
<p>“A good theory, Inspector.”</p>
<p>“It is. I’ll see what the coroner has to say.”</p>
<p>Phryne nodded excitedly, prompting Jack to look away quite suddenly, quickly bagging the evidence with his back to her. After that unexpected and unwanted moment of teamwork a cold silence once again descended on the room, and after several tense moments Phryne gathered her purse and turned to leave.</p>
<p>“Looks like my services might not be required after all. I’ll check in with the coroner tomorrow, but hopefully we won’t need to consult on the matter again.”</p>
<p>He finally turned at that, nodding again and handing the bag with the laudanum to his constable.</p>
<p>“Hopefully, Miss Fisher.”</p>
<p>Phryne set her jaw, straightened her shoulders, and walked from the room. As she moved from the study towards the front of the house, her facade began to crack, minutely, more and more with every step. Then she turned a corner, noticed a grandfather clock along the wall, and was surprised to realize that not more than thirty minutes had passed between her arrival and departure. That seemed impossible. Still...</p>
<p>Time was a funny thing. It could feel so different depending on one’s circumstances. 100 days to one person could feel like 1,000 to another. But, feelings and perception and the mystery of the human experience aside, time was, in fact, objective; measured in hours, days, months, years. </p>
<p>1 year, 8 months, 3 hours and 14 minutes ago, Jack Robinson had welcomed her home at the same airfield she’d left him at six months before. </p>
<p>1 year, 8 months, 2 hours and 7 minutes ago he’d pulled up outside Wardlow. </p>
<p>1 year, 8 months, 2 hours and 6 minutes ago she’d invited him inside.</p>
<p>And 1 year, 8 months, 2 hours and 5 minutes ago he’d finally come after her — into her home, into her bed, and into a relationship she had found stimulating, challenging, exhilarating, and comforting in equal measures. Better and harder and more rewarding than she had thought possible. </p>
<p>As she continued walking away from the study, and the man still inside it, Phryne marveled again at the inconsistencies of time. That airfield, that car ride, that beginning had felt so recent, like they were just getting started, like they had all the time in the world. </p>
<p>But 2 months, 2 days and 12 hours ago Jack Robinson had left her home and he hadn’t returned since.</p>
<p>And frankly, it felt like an eternity.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack drummed his fingers on the desk, uncharacteristically distracted and even more  uncharacteristically unconcerned by that fact. But it had been a hell of a few days and he figured he was owed a few unfocused minutes. </p><p>He’d been thrown yesterday, no doubt about it. They hadn’t worked together in two months and he hadn’t been expecting to see her. And then to fall back into that rhythm again, so quickly, so seamlessly… it wouldn’t do. It <em>couldn’t</em>. He’d have to be more careful going forward, that’s all. Maybe keep a list of all Mrs Stanley’s acquaintances on him at all times. Or perhaps just avoid crime scenes going forward.</p><p>That would work, right? </p><p>Jack laid his head down on the desk, enjoying the feel of the cool wood against his forehead. Unfortunately, his plans to uncharacteristically stay like that for the rest of the day were thwarted by a tentative knock on his door. </p><p>With a sigh, Jack straightened up, making sure his hair was in place and his tie straight, before calling for his constable to enter.</p><p>Hugh poked his head in. </p><p>“The coroner's report just arrived, sir. On Mr Beasley.”</p><p>Jack waited a moment, then raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “Were you planning to bring it in, Constable, or just alert me to its arrival?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, sir. Of course.” Hugh opened the door the rest of the way, entered and handed the report to Jack, who immediately began reading it over.</p><p>“Hmph. Death was caused by an overdose of laudanum. No signs it wasn’t self administered. And,” he looked down at the handwritten notes towards the bottom, “according to the victim’s physician, his eyesight had been getting worse as of late.” </p><p>Jack put the folder down on the table and steepled his hands on the desk. “Looks like an accidental overdose, Collins.”</p><p>“So Miss Fisher was right, then,” Hugh added absently, nodding his head up and down before abruptly stopping as he realized what he’d said. “I mean, no. Well, yes, but no she wasn’t. Or she was, but not. I mean…” He coughed, his face bright red by now. “Was Miss Fisher even there, sir? I wouldn’t,” another cough, “I wouldn’t know.”</p><p>Jack leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands across his stomach, and coolly regarded his constable. “I see the station break room is buzzing with gossip again. What is it this time?”</p><p>Hugh looked everywhere but at his commanding officer. “Nothing, sir. Just, just that you ran into Miss Fisher at the crime scene yesterday. And were very… professional.”</p><p>“Which is code for what?” Jack asked, knowing full well.</p><p>“Professional,” Hugh insisted. “Maybe, maybe a little distant. A little cool.”</p><p>“Cold, you mean.”</p><p>Hugh didn’t dare answer and Jack didn’t deign to speak and the standoff lasted just long enough to give Hugh a visible stomach ache. Finally, Jack decided to put the man out of his misery.</p><p>“In the future, Constable, I would appreciate it if the men of City South could go a day without feeling the need to discuss my personal life over a cup of tea. Miss Fisher is a professional. I am a professional. Despite the recent change in our… friendship, occasionally our paths will cross. And when they do I expect everyone here to be professional as well. Is that clear?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Hugh all but choked out.</p><p>“Good. You are dismissed.”</p><p>Hugh nodded, turned on his heel, and fled. Luckily the door was open already or there would have been a Collins-shaped hole in the wall.</p><p>Jack sighed. He felt a little bad about that, but really, the men needed a reminder that work was for work and an apoplectic Collins would do nicely as a messenger.</p><p>Jack checked his watch. He had time for a few phone calls to wrap up the Beasley investigation before he had to leave for dinner.</p><p>Uncharacteristically, he found he wasn’t hungry.</p><p>---------------------</p><p>Jack turned his car left and drove through the gate, the long tree-lined drive familiar by now. He reached the end and parked, checking his reflection in the mirror before alighting from the vehicle.</p><p>He made his way to the front door and rang, expecting one of the staff to let him in as usual. Instead a more familiar face opened the door, looking ever so pleased to see him.</p><p>“Jack! You made it. I was worried you’d been delayed at work.”</p><p>“Well, you make time for what’s important,” he assured her, kissing her cheek as he entered. </p><p>“Come in then, you’re just in time for dinner.”
</p><p>Jack followed orders, then followed her inside, closing the door behind him.</p><p>Taking his hand, she turned and headed down the hall. When they reached the door at the end, they were met by a chorus of greetings.</p><p>“Sorry I’m late,” Jack apologized. “Rosie can attest that it’s not the company, it’s the job.”</p><p>“Indeed I can,” the woman in question agreed, squeezing his arm as she did. “But he more than makes up for the job with his company.”</p><p>Jack offered her a small smile and took a seat next to his former wife.</p><p>Before he could say anything else, though, dinner was served.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack looked around the table, the faces so familiar by now it was hard sometimes to remember he’d only known them for a couple of months. Except for one face, of course, a face he’d known, a face he’d loved, half his life.</p><p>A face that was smiling at him now.</p><p>“What?” he asked quietly, reluctantly putting down his spoon.</p><p>“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just clear you’re enjoying the soup.”</p><p>“It’s good soup,” he defended. “Mr Barnes hired an excellent chef.”</p><p>“It’s just nice,” she told him. “To see you actually enjoying yourself.”</p><p>He looked up sharply at that, but she had already turned to address the blonde woman at her left.</p><p>“How are you feeling, Lizzie? Head any better?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” the other woman replied. “Much, thank you for asking. Charlie was a dear and picked up some of my powders in town this morning when he went to see about the permits.” She glanced gratefully towards her husband, then leaned in a little to address Jack. “I’m so pleased you could make it for dinner tonight, Inspector Robinson, we were getting worried.”</p><p>“I apologize for my tardiness, Mrs Evans. I’m afraid I was held up at work.”</p><p>Lizzie put down her own spoon to lean in eagerly, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Is it terribly exciting?” she asked him. “What you do?”</p><p>“No, not terribly,” he demurred. “I’m not really out in the field much anymore, and when I am, it’s mostly breaking up pub brawls and arresting people for public drunkenness.”</p><p>“Yes, we’re quite lucky Jack mainly does paperwork these days,” Rosie added. “Much less dangerous than being out on the beat, and the hours are better than investigative work.”</p><p>“Except today it seems,” Jack added. “I had a few things to finish up before my day off.”</p><p>“Which I assume you’ll be spending in the garden,” Rosie said, her voice equal parts affection and exasperation.</p><p>“Oh yes,” the bespectacled man across the table chimed in, no affection at all in his deep voice, “your <em>famous</em> garden, Mr Robinson. Rosie speaks so highly of it; I was actually hoping to see it while we’re in town. ”</p><p>Jack shook his head, and smiled a little awkwardly. “It’s hardly famous, Mr Marshall. And certainly not up to your professional standards, I’m sure.”</p><p>“Well nothing is really up to Hank’s standards, is it?” the petite redhead on Hank’s left cut in, adding fuel to the fire as usual.</p><p>“Horticulture is an art-form, Anna,” Hank defended. “And much more nuanced than your numbers.”</p><p>Anna shrugged and took a sip of her wine. “My numbers don’t wilt or die, Hank. I think I’ll keep them all the same.”</p><p>Hank shot her a pointed look. “My plants don’t die either. You just need to know how to take care of them.”</p><p>At that Jack coughed, and Rosie shot him an unamused look.</p><p>“Oh, not one word, Jack Robinson, not one word.”</p><p>“Oh?” Anna pushed her empty bowl to the side and steepled her hands on the table, her gaze sharp as always. “Is there a story here?”</p><p>Jack looked at Rosie, who was sending him very clear signals to keep this to himself.</p><p>He never had before, and didn’t see any reason to start now.</p><p>“My older brother lives in Sydney,” Jack began, as he always began this story. “And when he turned 30, I took the train up to celebrate with him, entrusting, among other things, the care of my garden to my beautiful wife.”</p><p>Rosie put her hand over her eyes as the attention of everyone at the table shifted to Jack’s story.</p><p>“She assured me, numerous times, that she was quite capable of ‘<em>dealing with a few flowers, Jack</em>’. And so, off I went. Only to come home to a crime scene.”</p><p>Rosie shot up at that, as she did every time he told this story.</p><p>“You are so dramatic!” she complained.</p><p>“It was murder,” he insisted. “She killed my gardenias. Over-watered them to death.”</p><p>“Oh for god’s sake, Jack…”</p><p>“And then had the audacity to say it was the gardenias’ fault.”</p><p>“I thought it was another crepe jasmine! You were forever growing those and they need lots of water… don’t they?”</p><p>“A bit, yes. But I’m fairly sure you would have drowned the jasmines as well and, as stated, <em>these were gardenias</em>.”</p><p>“You didn’t leave me any instructions!” she complained in the tone of a woman who had made this argument before and would surely make it again. “Which cannot be said for the time you ruined my mother’s birthday cake the month after we were married because you added salt instead of sugar.”</p><p>Jack smiled into his wine. “Well that one wasn’t an accident.”</p><p>“What?” Rosie said, throwing down her napkin in genuine surprise, the others at the table laughing at their good-natured teasing. “You scoundrel! We missed half the party.”</p><p>“That’s why I did it,” Jack said. Rosie crossed her arms, but Jack took one of her hands and prised it loose, bringing it up to his lips for a quick kiss. “I’m afraid I had no interest in sharing you that day.” Rosie’s eyes softened, before she looked away quickly.</p><p>“Oh well, that’s disappointing,” Charlie Evans chimed in, miming the move and taking his own wife’s hand in his. “Here I thought for a moment that you were as fallible as the rest of us, Robinson.”</p><p>“Oh I’m quite certain I am,” Jack told him, his eyes looking at Rosie’s hand where his ring used to sit. “Quite certain indeed.”</p><p>---------------------</p><p>The rest of dinner passed in the same jovial manner, stories swapped and laughs shared. It was a charming, if complicated, group of people, and as always Jack listened intently to everything that was said. </p><p>As dessert was being cleared, Julius Barnes, the man at the head of the table and their host, leaned back in his chair and placed his hands over his ample midsection. “I have to say, it may have been a mistake moving to Sydney; I don’t think I’ve eaten this well the entire time I’ve been up there.”</p><p>“Maybe you should make the cook an offer before we leave,” Charlie suggested, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.</p><p>“If we ever leave,” Anna muttered from the other side of the table. Lizzie shot her a pleading look and Anna sighed. “I’m sorry, I know you’re all doing the best you can.”</p><p>“You’re always in such a hurry, Anna,” Julius admonished, shaking his head paternally. “Slow down, girl, enjoy yourself once and awhile. Speaking of…” Julius stood and gestured towards one of the doors, “It’s such a lovely evening, I thought perhaps the men might take port on the patio tonight.”</p><p>It was a slightly antiquated tradition, but Julius meant well and no one wanted to offend him, so everyone agreed and the group broke up to go their various ways. Julius clapped Hank on the back, asking him some question about an upcoming lecture the other man was attending as they left the room. Charlie said a quiet and affectionate goodnight to his wife, who explained she was headed to bed, while Anna unceremoniously left to go smoke out front. Jack finished off the glass of wine he’d been nursing and bid Rosie goodnight, watching her make her way back to her own room until she disappeared from sight. </p><p>After she was gone he sighed to himself and the empty room, then made his way to the patio. </p><p>The last to arrive, Jack found Julius, Charlie and Hank already assembled. Julius made to pour him a drink and Jack cut him off at half a glass. “I’m afraid I may have indulged too much at dinner already,” Jack said apologetically. “But it was a wonderful vintage.”</p><p>
“I’m glad you think so, my boy!” Julius boomed. “I’m particularly fond of it myself. I’ve put aside a few bottles to bring home as well.”</p><p>“I feel like the vintage will be a year older by the time we get back,” Charlie joked, taking a sip of his drink. “I can’t believe how long we’ve been held up by this red tape.” He sat down at the table and glanced up at Jack. “Although it seems to be working out pretty well for you, eh Robinson?”</p><p>Jack tilted his head in silent acknowledgement and sat down as well. The other two men joined them, and Julius took out a cigar, which he quietly puffed on for a moment before directing his attention back to Jack, an inquisitive look on his face.</p><p>“Did you actually swap out the sugar for salt on purpose?” he asked and Jack shrugged in response. </p><p>
“I was <em>actually</em> distracted by my new bride,” he admitted. “And that is all I will say on the matter.”</p><p>Julius chuckled. “Wise,” he said. </p><p>“You seem pretty distracted by her these days too,” Hank, who had clearly overindulged himself in tonight’s vintage, pointed out. “Enough to make yourself thoroughly available, if the Melbourne gossip machine is to be believed.”</p><p>Jack looked down at his drink, took a long sip, looked back down again. “It’s… true. After our divorce, I met another woman, who was lovely. <em>Is</em> lovely. Absolutely. But seeing Rosie again… ”</p><p>He trailed off and took another sip of his port, but found he didn’t care for the taste anymore.</p><p>“So you let this lovely woman go to pursue another, not certain she wanted you or if you were even worthy of a second chance?” Hank slurred slightly. “I can’t decide if that’s noble or stupid.”</p><p>Jack regarded the other man coolly. “Well I’ve never considered myself either.”</p><p>“Still,” Julius, chimed in, uncertain where Hank was going, but clearly uninterested in finding out. “As I understand it you arrested her father and she still dines with you three times a week. I think you have a good chance there, my boy.”</p><p>“Once married to the job, always married to the job,” Hank muttered into his glass.</p><p>Jack finished off his port and looked out into the distance, the lights of Melbourne visible though far away.</p><p>“Perhaps. But I lost Rosie once because I put my work first. Never again.” Then he stood, slightly wobbly, and bid the gentlemen a good evening.</p><p>---------------------</p><p>By the time Jack arrived home, he was well and truly tired. The night had been more taxing than he’d anticipated and the work week had caught up with him. So he almost didn’t notice the little details that screamed “break in” when he first entered his house.</p><p>They were subtle, of course, and clearly made by an expert, but they were there. And to his credit, Jack <em>did</em> notice, even if it took him longer than he would like to admit.</p><p>Jack paused and listened, but there were no sounds to indicate if the intruder was still there, and if they were, where they might be hiding. He picked up a cricket bat he kept in the front closet and slowly made his way through the house, until a dim light from the study gave him his first clue. He rounded the doorway and held up the bat, only to be greeted by a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.</p><p>“And good evening to you too, Jack,” she said archy, taking another sip of his good whisky.</p><p>Jack put down the bat and muttered an expletive as he leaned it against the wall. “Jesus, Phryne, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?”</p><p>
“I got lonely,” she shrugged, one strap of her loose fitting dress falling off her shoulder at the motion. “I thought maybe you could help with that.”</p><p>“We talked about this — ”</p><p>“No, you talked about it. I thought your rules were ridiculous and excessive and decided to ignore them.” She nodded towards the cricket bat. “A hell of a greeting though, Jack. What were you going to do, googly me?”</p><p>“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Jack asked, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile. Phryne laughed and he leaned down to kiss her, taking his time, enjoying every moment. Eventually he pulled back and snagged her glass, taking a sip of the whisky for himself.</p><p>“Howzat for a welcome?” he asked. </p><p>She snorted, and he considered adding something about ball tampering, but then the other strap slid off, leaving both shoulders bare, and his brain short circuited, tossing the next cricket pun and all propriety right out of his head.</p><p>“Bed now, banter later,” he decided, putting down the glass and scooping her up in a fireman’s hold instead.</p><p>Her surprised laughter rang through the halls, cut off only by the sound of his bedroom door slamming firmly closed behind them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Googly, Howzat, and ball tampering are all terms used in the sport of cricket. It occurs to me only now that they might be obscure for some readers. Oops. 😂</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>~~~TWO MONTHS EARLIER~~~</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Sunday mornings were fast becoming one of Phryne’s favorite times of the week.</p>
<p>Even though she adored the fast and fabulous life she lived most of the time, there was something truly sublime about taking a day, taking a moment, taking a breath.</p>
<p>And taking all of those things with Jack made them all the sweeter.</p>
<p>Most of the week they were The Honorable Miss Fisher and Senior Detective Inspector Robinson. They worked together and apart, played together and apart, lived their lives in the public eye and in civil service and almost always had an audience of one kind or another. And she loved it, she did.</p>
<p>But Sunday mornings they were just Phryne and Jack. And she loved that too.</p>
<p>Phryne hummed a little to herself, working on a popular new puzzle in the paper while Jack showered off his morning bicycle ride. A mostly eaten omelet sat next to her entirely empty cup of tea. She was just contemplating another cup, when there was a knock at the door. </p>
<p>Phryne frowned; the only company they were expecting was Mac with some notes on a coroner's report from another station. She looked up at the clock that hung in Jack’s kitchen, and saw that it was only half ten. A bit early for Mac, but the good doctor’s schedule often shifted without warning. Phryne rose and pulled her dressing gown a little tighter before walking to the front door and opening it wide to let her friend in.</p>
<p>It wasn’t Mac.</p>
<p>“Miss Sanderson,” Phryne said, slightly stunned, before collecting herself. “What a pleasant surprise.”</p>
<p>“Miss Fisher,” Rosie greeted, looking only mildly taken aback to see her. She straightened her spine a little though all the same before continuing. “May I… may I come in?”</p>
<p>“Oh, of course.” Phryne stepped to the side to usher the other woman in. “I assume you’re here to see Jack.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Is he here?”</p>
<p>“He is…” Phryne swallowed a few choice curses as she realized how very much she had not thought all this through. “He’s just… indisposed at the moment.”</p>
<p>Rosie offered a little knowing smile. “Shower?” she asked.</p>
<p>Phryne looked at her in surprise. “Yes, actually. How…?”</p>
<p>Rosie shrugged. “His Sunday morning bicycle ride. I assume.”</p>
<p>“You assume correctly.” Phryne confirmed. “Can I get you some tea?”</p>
<p>“That would be lovely, thank you.”</p>
<p>Phryne gestured down the hall. “The kitchen is just — ”</p>
<p>“I know where it is,” Rosie stated sharply. She shook her head and sighed. “I’m sorry, that was rude. You mentioned tea?”</p>
<p>Phryne nodded and turned towards the kitchen, Rosie a few steps behind. The other woman took a seat at the table while Phryne added some hot water to the teapot.</p>
<p>“Milk and sugar?” she asked, reaching to put them on the table.</p>
<p>“Just milk, thank you.”</p>
<p>Phryne nodded and placed the tea cup and milk jug in front of her, before making her own cup and sitting down opposite Jack’s former wife.</p>
<p>In his kitchen.</p>
<p>While he showered down the hall.</p>
<p>Phryne took a long sip of her tea and tried not to think about it too hard. Pity. She usually enjoyed thinking about Jack in the shower. That or how he looked just out of the shower, wandering the house with wet hair, wrapped only in a towel —</p>
<p>Oh dear lord.</p>
<p>That might <em>actually</em> happen at any moment. </p>
<p>Phryne almost spit out her tea at the thought. She had to intercept him. Phryne stood and in her rush she nearly knocked over her chair. </p>
<p>“Perhaps I should — ”</p>
<p>“Phryne? I thought I heard — ”</p>
<p><em>Damn</em>.</p>
<p>Phryne turned slowly to see Jack in the kitchen door, mercifully dressed as though in answer to her prayers. His attire was casual, his shirt unbuttoned over his vest, his braces still hanging around his hips, but he <em>was</em> dressed, thank god.</p>
<p>Phryne figured Dot must have put in a good word about her at some point.</p>
<p>Jack, for his part, looked utterly stunned at the scene in his kitchen.</p>
<p>“Rosie?” he finally sputtered out, as his hands suddenly began buttoning his shirt at record speeds.</p>
<p>“Hello Jack,” she greeted him quietly. “How are you?”</p>
<p>“Fine. Good.” He shot a look over at Phryne who shrugged and shook her head quickly to indicate she didn’t know what was going on either. “Why… I’m sorry, I thought you were in Sydney.”</p>
<p>“I am,” she confirmed. “Or rather I was, and I will be again. But first, I need your help.” Rosie looked over at Phryne. “And perhaps your Miss Fisher’s help as well.”</p>
<p>“Ah...” Jack had finished buttoning his shirt and positioning his braces but still seemed at a loss.</p>
<p>“I’m going to get dressed,” Phryne announced. “Jack, perhaps you could make yourself some tea and put out some biscuits while I do?”</p>
<p>Jack nodded, grateful for the opportunity to do something else while he collected himself, and Phryne left the kitchen to make her way to Jack’s bedroom and the outfit she’d put in her overnight bag. </p>
<p>As she dressed, she tried to remember what she knew about Rosie these days. She was in Sydney, or should be. She worked for one of the new charities that had started after the world market crashed and she wasn’t seeing anybody seriously that Phryne knew of. Rosie and Jack also wrote to each other regularly, a strong friendship having risen from the ashes of their failed marriage.</p>
<p>And that was… it. Jack didn’t talk about her often, other than to be open about the fact that she was still a part of his life and likely always would be. And Phryne didn’t ask, content that Jack would share anything important when he was ready.</p>
<p>Phryne buttoned up her blouse and applied her signature lipstick, donning it mostly out of routine and a little in preemptive defence — she had an audience now, and it seemed prudent.</p>
<p>She turned to leave, then stopped and grabbed Jack’s waistcoat from the wardrobe — she figured he might appreciate some additional armor today as well.</p>
<p>Phryne entered the kitchen to find Jack nervously sipping tea and catching Rosie up on some mutual friends. She sat down next to him and subtly handed him the piece of clothing. He shot her a grateful look and put it on, then looked back over at Rosie expectantly.</p>
<p>Rosie bit her lower lip for a moment, then looked between Jack and Phryne.</p>
<p>“I suppose I should start at the beginning,” she decided. “About a year ago I became involved in a charity that helps people grow their own food in city plots — The Homegrown Society. We also financially subsidize neighborhood grocers and general stores who sell that food so they can both keep costs low for their neighbors and also stay in business themselves.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like you’re doing good work,” Phryne told her. She’d heard about some similar organizations elsewhere and they really were helping families who desperately needed it.</p>
<p>“We are,” Rosie said. “And I feel like I’m making a real difference. Which… anyway it’s a nice change. But about a month ago, a woman whose store we subsidize, Florence Hopkins, died.”</p>
<p>“How?” Jack asked, already switching to investigative mode.</p>
<p>“The police say it was an accident. That she fell off a ladder and hit her head.”</p>
<p>“But you don’t think so,” Phryne stated. It wasn’t even a question.</p>
<p>“No,” Rosie confirmed. “I… I don’t know what happened, but I knew Florence very well. We talked a lot over the last few months. And she was afraid of heights. Didn’t even like the step stool. And she definitely didn’t go up on the ladder until she’d exhausted every other option.”</p>
<p>“And you know for a fact she hadn’t that day?”</p>
<p>“No,” Rosie admitted. “It’s just,” she glanced over at Phryne, “intuition.”</p>
<p>Phryne smiled at the other woman and nodded. “What can we do?”</p>
<p>“The police in Sydney were very nice, but didn’t take me seriously. But…” She peered down at the table, fiddling with her spoon for a moment. “But there’s something else.” She looked back up, her face notably more worried. “I think someone at my charity might have had something to do with it.”</p>
<p>“Why do you think that?” Jack asked.</p>
<p>“She telephoned me the day before she died, asking to talk. We had plans to meet the morning after, but I don’t know what about. She only said it was important and that I needed to know. Also, Florence had money on her when she died. Under,” Rosie swallowed, “under the body. 50£.”</p>
<p>“A not insignificant amount of money,” Jack noted.</p>
<p>Rosie swallowed. “And exactly the amount missing from our safe that week.”</p>
<p>“Which is why you think someone at your organization is involved,” Phryne concluded.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“What did the police say about that?” Phryne asked.</p>
<p>Rosie rolled her eyes. “Coincidence.”</p>
<p>“Well that sounds like shoddy police work,” Jack grumbled. “Who had access to the money?”</p>
<p>“Just the core staff, we’re the only ones who can get into the safe. There are six of us.”</p>
<p>“Probably only five suspects though,” Phryne suggested with a small smile. “Unless you’re the worst criminal in history.”</p>
<p>Rosie smiled back. “Well I might still be, but I didn’t do this.”</p>
<p>“Did everyone on staff know Miss Hopkins?” Out of the corner of her eye, Phryne saw Jack lean back and grab the notepad and pen he kept for shopping lists off his counter as he asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, everyone knew her. And it was Mrs Hopkins,” Rosie clarified. “She was widowed, and had a ten-year-old son.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Phryne sighed. Another orphan. The world continued to be more cruel than she would ever understand.</p>
<p>“He’s with his aunt and uncle now. I made sure he was with family in a good home before I left Sydney. At least I could do that much,” she said softly.</p>
<p>Phryne reached across and took Rosie’s hand. “That is quite a lot, Miss Sanderson.”</p>
<p>“Rosie,” the other woman said, attempting a smile despite her obvious grief. “Please.”</p>
<p>“Phryne, then.”</p>
<p>Jack briefly looked up from scribbling down notes on the pad and took in the tableau, an odd expression, somewhere between pleased and pained, on his face. Then he looked back down at the notes and sighed.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Rosie. I don’t know that this is enough for us to do anything official.”</p>
<p>“No,” Rosie agreed. “I didn’t think it was. But I was rather hoping… maybe unofficially?”</p>
<p>“How would that work?” Jack asked. “We just come up to Sydney and — ”</p>
<p>“No,” Rosie interrupted. “That’s the easy part — we’re all <em>here</em>. We’ve travelled down to Melbourne for a few weeks to set up a residential suburb for families who’ve been evicted. We arrived yesterday and we’re all staying in a rented estate together while we finalize everything. So you can talk to everyone here.”</p>
<p>Jack looked unconvinced. “You don’t think they’ll be suspicious? Your former husband, the <em>police inspector</em>, and a lady detective milling around, asking lots of questions?”</p>
<p>“Please, Jack.” Rosie’s voice held an edge now, insistent and distressed. “This is… I’ve spent all my life around policemen, I know when something’s not right.” Her lip trembled slightly, but she remained resolute. “And I’m <em>never</em> going to ignore that instinct again. I <em>can’t</em>.”</p>
<p>Jack sighed. “Rosie, I’m not saying there’s nothing there, I’m saying I don’t have enough for a warrant and a casual interview will just cause any guilty party to become more cautious.”</p>
<p>“What if it’s just a social thing?” Phryne suggested. “I know how these launches work. <em>Lots</em> of dinner parties with donors leading up to it. And Rosie will need a date.”</p>
<p>“Phryne...” Jack lowered his voice minutely and glanced uncomfortably at Rosie before continuing. “I think we can assume that most of the people donating to this are going to run in either your aunt’s circle or yours. They all know we’re... together. My spending a lot of time with Rosie will just raise red flags.”</p>
<p>Phryne swallowed. Sometimes she hated how fast her mind worked — she would have much preferred to have not had this particular idea.</p>
<p>“Not if we’re not together,” she said quietly.</p>
<p>“What?” Jack looked at her sharply and she reached over quickly to take his hand. </p>
<p>“Not really, darling. Just… for appearances. So you can accompany Rosie to these things and not raise suspicions. That way you won’t even <em>be</em> a police officer, you’ll just be a potential suitor looking to reconnect. You can investigate all you like without anyone being the wiser.”</p>
<p>Rosie, for her part, looked appalled. “Jack, Miss F— <em>Phryne</em>. You cannot do that. Not for me.”</p>
<p>“It’s not for you,” Phryne said kindly. “It’s for a ten-year-old boy who doesn’t have a mother anymore.” She turned back to Jack. “You know I’m right. We’re working with a limited window and no official standing. This is the best plan.”</p>
<p>Jack looked away. She could see him desperately trying to find a way to disagree with her and she could also see the moment when he realized he couldn’t. He took a deep breath and looked back at her. “What do you suggest? Public blow up at a crime scene? Cheek slapped, martini thrown in my face? ”</p>
<p>“Nothing that dramatic, darling. We go to dinner tonight, somewhere very public, the Windsor perhaps, and then halfway through you just get up and leave. Then we stop seeing each other publicly, at events <em>and</em> work, and you start accompanying Rosie everywhere. Trust me, the rumour mill will do all the heavy lifting for us.”</p>
<p>“Why does it have to be me?” he asked. “Leaving you, I mean.” </p>
<p>
“It needs to be you to make it count. If you storm off and leave me alone at dinner, that means something, Jack. If I storm off, that’s a Tuesday.”</p>
<p>Jack rolled his eyes, but squeezed her hand all the same.</p>
<p>Rosie looked between the two of them. “No. No, you can’t. I could never ask — ”</p>
<p>Jack cut her off, his voice kind but insistent. “Rosie, you’re not asking. We’re offering. I couldn’t always… this I can do. Let me. Let us.”</p>
<p>She opened her mouth to protest again, but Phryne shook her head and stopped her. “It’s a minor inconvenience to see justice served.” She looked over at Jack. “We’ve been through much worse, Rosie. It will be fine.”</p>
<p>Rosie looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but the joint front they presented quelled her impulse.</p>
<p>“Fine,” she reluctantly acquiesced. “Two weeks, three at the most. Then we’ll be gone either way, and things will be back to normal. Deal?”</p>
<p>“Deal,” Jack agreed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>After extensive research (honestly, just too too much) I think 50£ in 1931 Melbourne would be the equivalent of $4,600 Australian or $3,000 US today. All other currencies, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to do your own research. 😉</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>~~~PRESENT DAY~~~</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Jack woke up late and with no feeling in his right arm. Phryne was, of course, sprawled across him, as was her preferred way of sleeping, a position which sometimes interrupted his slumber overnight. With their manufactured break-up, though, these days he generally woke up well-rested, unmolested, and alone.</p>
<p>He hated it.</p>
<p>Jack shifted slightly so he could bring the hand <em>not</em> currently trapped under the woman he loved up to stroke her bare arm. Her skin was warm and smooth and familiar under his fingertips, despite the necessary time apart. He inhaled deeply and breathed in the everyday scents of his bedroom mixed with the now more uncommon aromas of French perfume and Phryne.</p>
<p>He hated all of this.</p>
<p>It had been easier, somehow, when Phryne had been in Sydney, investigating Florence Hopkins’ death up there. It had felt like any other time she traveled without him; he’d missed her, of course, but it was a part of their relationship and, most importantly, it was finite. But now that she was home, nearby but rarely near <em>him</em>, this, this… interminable situation was becoming unbearable. All their moments these days were stolen, and because of all the secrecy there was an air of shamefulness he'd never felt with her before. And without an end date in sight… unbearable.</p>
<p>He sighed, quietly, and pulled Phryne just a little closer, but made no other effort to move, right arm be damned.</p>
<p>After a time — minutes or hours, Jack couldn’t be sure — Phryne stirred, stretching her arms and raising her head to look at him.</p>
<p>“Good morning,” she murmured, slumberous but happy. “How did you sleep?”</p>
<p>“Best sleep all week,” he told her, and it wasn’t a lie at all.</p>
<p>“Me too,” she whispered, before reaching up to kiss him. “I’ve missed you.”</p>
<p>“I’ve missed you too,” he told her. “More and more with every mundane, non-vexing crime scene.”</p>
<p>She laughed and snuggled in closer to his chest. Jack took up stroking her arm again, staring up at the ceiling.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he said quietly.</p>
<p>“For what?”</p>
<p>“For breaking our rule. For coming over unexpectedly.”</p>
<p>Phryne raised her head again, looking at him intently.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” she asked. “You seemed… sad when you came in last night.”</p>
<p>He sighed again, and continued staring up at nothing. “I had to lie.”</p>
<p>She propped her chin up on his chest. “Jack, you lie all the time; it’s the nature of undercover work.”</p>
<p>He tilted his head to finally look at her. “I had to lie about you. I… I hate that.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” She shifted slightly and gently brushed an errant curl off his forehead. “Darling, we knew this would be hard.”</p>
<p>Jack clasped her hand and shuffled to sit up in the bed. “Yes, but it wasn’t supposed to be so long. Two months, Phryne. I’m thinking… I’m thinking of ending the charade.”</p>
<p>“Rosie will be hurt.”</p>
<p>“I know. That’s why I didn’t end it a month ago.”</p>
<p>She nodded against his chest. “I trust you, Jack. We’ll do whatever you think is best. Just be certain, alright?”</p>
<p>Jack dipped his head in acknowledgement, then snaked his arm over to the nightstand to pick up his watch. “Right now, I think breakfast is best. Unless we want to just wait a tick and skip directly to lunch.”</p>
<p>“No,” she decided. “I need sustenance. <em>Someone</em> wore me out last night.”</p>
<p>“Well whichever lucky old man it was, I’m sure his back is paying the price today.”</p>
<p>Phryne laughed and pushed herself up, exposing the tempting length of her bare back and making his feel miraculously better as she did. Jack had just decided to postpone breakfast in favor of another indulgence when there was a knock on his front door.</p>
<p>“Are you expecting someone?” Phryne asked, reaching for her dressing gown as she stood up and out of Jack’s reach. “From work perhaps?”</p>
<p>“No.” Jack said, crossing his arms. “It’s my day off, and the constables at the station are avoiding me even when I’m on duty these days. I can’t imagine any of them being brave enough to come looking for me at home.”</p>
<p>Phryne laughed and moved to stealthily peek out the curtain. She made a little noise of surprise and looked back at Jack. “It’s Rosie.”</p>
<p>Jack frowned and moved out of the bed. There was no reason for her to be here unless there was trouble and he very much hoped there was not. He pulled on his own dressing gown and walked to his front door, opening it just enough to greet her.</p>
<p>“Rosie. Good morning. Is everything alright?”</p>
<p>“That depends on your definition of alright,” she hedged. “May I come in?”</p>
<p>Jack opened the door fully for her to enter, then closed and locked it quickly. He moved to take her coat, noting she was carrying a basket of all things, and hung it up on the rack, coughing lightly as he did. “Uh, I should let you know… Miss Fisher is here.”</p>
<p>Rosie just nodded at the new information and removed her hat, Jack hovering a little anxiously behind her as she did. He gestured for her to move through to the parlour, then stopped.</p>
<p>“I also wanted to apologize. For last night. For sharing the story about the gardenias.”</p>
<p>Rosie turned around and rolled her eyes at him. “It’s fine, Jack. It’s not as though you haven’t told that story a thousand times before.”</p>
<p>“No, but it was the first time since… ”</p>
<p>“Since the divorce,” she finished for him and he nodded. “Well, I suppose there hasn’t been much occasion of late, has there?”</p>
<p>“No, I suppose not,” he agreed. </p>
<p>She glanced up at him and for just a moment looked profoundly sad, but the expression passed just as quickly as it appeared and she simply shook her head lightly.</p>
<p>“You <em>are</em> far too dramatic though,” she reminded him as she continued on down the hall. When they reached the parlour she took a seat in one of his armchairs while Jack stood to the side, tightening his robe. Rosie looked up and laughed. </p>
<p>“Go get dressed,” she told him. “I’m fine here for a moment.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure? I could just — ”</p>
<p>“Jack, go. I can literally feel the discomfort coming off you in waves.”</p>
<p>Jack nodded and hastily excused himself back to his bedroom. When he got there, Phryne was just finishing her makeup.</p>
<p>“Everything alright?” she asked, not moving away from the small tabletop mirror as she fixed her lipstick. It was her mirror. The one she’d brought over three months into their relationship because she was tired of using the one in his bathroom. The first of many small items she’d left at his because it was easier. Because she wanted to. Because it was her second home.</p>
<p>God, he just wanted her to come home.</p>
<p>Jack shook his head to dispel the thought and cleared his throat. “Not sure,” he admitted. “But apparently not urgent: she’s waiting in the parlour.”</p>
<p>Phryne nodded and leaned back in her chair as Jack quickly dressed behind her. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked.</p>
<p>It wasn’t a loaded question, she was genuinely asking, but Jack flinched all the same.</p>
<p>
“No,” he assured her. “Never.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” Phryne stood and smoothed down her skirt, moving toward his door just as he shrugged on his waistcoat. “Let’s go see what the trouble is.”</p>
<p>When they entered the parlour, Jack was surprised to discover Rosie gone from the armchair, but a wonderful smell now coming from the kitchen.</p>
<p>They followed it to find Rosie leaning against the counter, a timer in her hand. She looked up at their entrance. “When I told her I was coming over, the cook sent a basket of pastries for Jack. I didn’t think you’d mind.”</p>
<p>Jack’s stomach — traitor that it was — took the opportunity to grumble with hunger and both women laughed.</p>
<p>“A wonderful idea,” Phryne said. “Good morning, Rosie.”</p>
<p>“Good morning,” the other woman greeted pleasantly. Things were still slightly awkward between them, but there was no animosity on either side, which, given the circumstances, was probably the best Jack could hope for. No, that was a lie. He <em>hoped</em> they would become real friends someday. They were two of the most important people in his life, and he thought they probably had much more in common than not. But, for now, allies would suffice.</p>
<p>Jack coughed and moved to the range to start some water for tea. “So what’s the trouble, Rosie?”</p>
<p>She handed him the kettle and took a seat at the table. “Well I have good news and I have bad news. And,” she continued, “they’re rather the same news.”</p>
<p>Phryne took a seat opposite Rosie and leaned on the table. “Oh?”</p>
<p>Rosie nodded. “We’ve finally secured all the permits and contracts for the new site. We break ground on Friday and there is a celebratory party on Saturday and then…” She trailed off.</p>
<p>“And then you’re gone.” Phryne finished for her.</p>
<p>Rosie nodded. “Back to Sydney by Monday apparently. So it seems we have less than a week to discover what’s going on before our window to do so surreptitiously closes.” She offered them both a small smile. “But the upside is the charade can end.”</p>
<p>“Which will be welcome,” Phryne said gently, “but we’re not giving up on this case.”</p>
<p>Rosie’s shoulders slumped slightly at her words. “What case?” she asked. “We’re no closer to discovering what’s going on now than we were eight weeks ago. No new or useful information whatsoever. The only difference is you’re both miserable and I feel like a perfect heel.”</p>
<p>Phryne opened her mouth to speak, but Jack coughed and caught her eye. He shook his head minutely, which did not make her happy, but she kept silent nonetheless.</p>
<p>Unfortunately Rosie picked up the wordless exchange. She looked between the two of them suspiciously. “Jack?”</p>
<p>“Mmmm?” he asked, turning around to fiddle with the kettle. </p>
<p>“What was… what are you keeping from me?”</p>
<p>He didn’t want to lie, so he deflected instead. “It’s nothing to concern you, Rosie.”</p>
<p><em>That</em> was the wrong thing to say. She stood up immediately, indignant. “Jack Robinson, if it has to do with this case, it concerns me. Now stop tiptoeing around… <em>whatever</em> this is, and tell me.”</p>
<p>Jack looked between the two women and, knowing Phryne would not take his side on this, sighed, but relented. He pulled the pastries out of the oven, removed the kettle from the hob, and gestured to the kitchen door. “My study,” he said simply, then followed both women down the hall to the small room that served as his home office.</p>
<p>Rosie entered first, opening the closed door then stopping short. She took in the room slowly, then turned to face him. “Oh, Jack…”</p>
<p>He nodded, moving past her towards the butcher paper that covered the two back walls. “Phryne and I have put this together over the last few weeks. It’s everything we have so far.”</p>
<p>Rosie walked over to one wall, touching a photograph tacked to the paper before stepping back.</p>
<p>“Talk me through it?” she requested, though it sounded more like a demand. </p>
<p>Jack looked over at Phryne, who shrugged. “You know my position, Jack — three heads are better than two.”</p>
<p>Jack nodded again and gestured at the wall, moving across as he spoke. “Background information on all five possible suspects as well as Mrs Hopkins and your organization. Police reports and photographs of Mrs Hopkins death, which was initially labeled suspicious and then later an accident. Phryne’s notes from Sydney, and all the information I’ve gathered from the various functions we’ve attended together in Melbourne, as well as follow-up from all of that.”</p>
<p>Rosie looked slightly stunned. “Why did you keep this from me?” she asked quietly.</p>
<p>“Not all of the information is flattering,” Jack explained, just as softly. “And they’re your friends.”</p>
<p>Rosie lifted her chin defiantly in a move he remembered well from the final years of their marriage, and crossed her arms. “I am aware,” she told him coolly. “I’m also the one who asked you to investigate in the first place.”</p>
<p>“And we are,” he assured her.</p>
<p>“Well,” she challenged. “What have you found?”</p>
<p>
“Motive,” Phryne chimed in, moving towards Jack and the wall. “Perhaps.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps?” Rosie dropped her arms, looking confused.</p>
<p>“If Mrs Hopkins’ death was about the money,” Jack clarified. “Which it seems it might be.”</p>
<p>Phryne nodded. “Yes. Though I didn’t learn much from my time up in Sydney, I did find out that Mrs Hopkins was a model citizen, with no prior encounters with the law, <em>except</em> that a few days before she died, she reported a break-in to the police, but retracted her report later that day. Said there’d been a misunderstanding.”</p>
<p>“So who has motive then?” Rosie asked, slightly confused. </p>
<p>Jack sighed and gestured to the wall. “Who doesn’t?” He pointed to the first name. “Anna Walker. Bookkeeper for The Homegrown Society. Born in a rather rough section of Redfern, to immigrant parents from Austria. Worked for and with a number of less than reputable characters until she made enough to set herself up in Sydney, where she met Julius Barnes — seemingly  by chance, though Phryne doesn’t think so — who gave her a job at his new charity. Still in regular contact with several of said less than reputable characters.”</p>
<p>“So?” Rosie asked. “Was any of her work illegal?”</p>
<p>Phryne shrugged. “Some, but that’s not the point. The point is that if they’re anything like the less than reputable characters we had in Collingwood, they might see any advancement by Miss Walker as an opportunity for themselves.”</p>
<p>Jack pointed at another name. “Henry ‘Hank’ Marshall. Expert on urban farming. Used to teach at an agricultural school until he was fired.”</p>
<p>“He was fired?” Rosie asked in surprise. “Hank? But he’s so kind and… and anyway I thought he left because of a disagreement on the curriculum.”</p>
<p>Phryne nodded. “Well it was certainly a disagreement; he beat a supervisor nearly senseless.”</p>
<p>“He <em>what</em>? Why?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t been able to find out,” Phryne admitted, annoyed. Jack tamped down a smile at her irritation — the indomitable Miss Fisher thwarted by small school politics. That the school was so isolated did not help.</p>
<p>“Charges were never filed it seems,” Phryne continued. “And in any case, he has now rather staked his reputation on this endeavour. He’s run out of savings and needs this to be a success.”</p>
<p>Rosie frowned, clearly worried by this new information.</p>
<p>Jack leaned against the wall and looked at the next names. “Charles and Elizabeth Evans. Both from Melbourne originally. He offloaded at the docks for a few import companies to put himself through school, then started at the State Bank processing loan applications after graduation. That’s where he met the future Mrs Evans. She is from a far wealthier family, and they eloped to Sydney when her parents didn’t approve of the match, though apparently that's all patched up now. Lizzie knew Julius Barnes through her parents and when he was looking for someone to run the application process for The Homegrown Society, she suggested Charlie. She volunteers at the charity as well, in a variety of capacities.”</p>
<p>“Most of which is information we already knew,” Rosie pointed out, crossing her arms. “And I must say, I fail to see motive in any of it.”</p>
<p>Jack grimaced. “Lizzie has a record.” At his words, Rosie’s eyes grew wide in shock. “Gambling apparently. Mostly swept under the rug by the parents, but there have been a couple raids the family couldn’t talk their way out of. Nothing in Sydney so far, though, so that’s something.”</p>
<p>Rosie nodded absently, clearly overcome by all of this new information about her friends and colleagues. After a moment she looked up sharply. “Well what about Julius? He’s the original benefactor of the Society. Surely he doesn’t need money.”</p>
<p>Phryne shook her head. “I can’t say for certain how badly, but I do know he was hurt by the American Stock Market Crash. Had significant assets tied up in gold. And he sold some property in Melbourne last year, undervalue and fast.”</p>
<p>Rosie blew out a breath. “So what you’re saying is I don’t know anybody at all.”</p>
<p>“Not a bit,” Phryne corrected. “Everyone has a secret or two from their past they don’t announce to all and sundry. Doesn’t make them a different person and it certainly doesn’t make them a murderer.” </p>
<p>Without replying, Rosie moved towards the photographs and stared, unable, it seemed, to look away. Jack followed her gaze, but all he saw were the same photographs he’d been looking at for weeks. Saw the same general store, the same ladder, the same wall lined with washing powders and headache powders, cough syrup and cocoa. Saw the same body. Rosie’s friend, who he was no closer to finding justice for now than he’d been when he first put up the photographs. He looked away, moved to the window and sighed as he looked outside; he really had been neglecting his garden.</p>
<p>“I need to go to the party,” Phryne announced, seemingly out of nowhere. Jack was rarely surprised by her leaps of logic anymore, but this one seemed larger than usual.</p>
<p>“What?” Jack and Rosie asked in unison.</p>
<p>“Everyone will be there, right?” Phryne asked. “All your colleagues, I mean.” Rosie nodded. “Good. Time to introduce an unknown variable, shake things up. Jack, you attend with Rosie as planned. I’ll find my own way.”</p>
<p>“Phryne, do you really think — ”</p>
<p>“We’re running out of time, Jack. This provides an opportunity to divide and conquer, and besides,” she lowered her voice just a touch, “we always do work better together.”</p>
<p>Jack looked over at Rosie, who hesitantly nodded at the suggestion.</p>
<p>“Wonderful,” Phryne clapped. “I’d better get started on securing an invitation.” She frowned minutely. “Though first I’d better secure an exit from here without alerting your neighbors.”</p>
<p>Jack rolled his eyes. “And that,” he reminded her, “is why I made the rule you keep disregarding. So we could <em>plan</em> for your departure.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you worry too much,” Phryne told him.</p>
<p>Rosie coughed lightly. “I may be able to help.” Jack and Phryne turned to face her. “If you leave out the back, I can double around and pick you up on the side street next to the house. Then drop you wherever you want to go.”</p>
<p>Phryne beamed at the other woman. “Excellent! I’ll go get my bag.” Phryne moved to the door, but before she left she looked back one last time at Jack, victorious. “You see, it all works out.”</p>
<p>Jack rolled his eyes once more, and tamped down another smile.</p>
<p>Incorrigible, incredible woman.</p>
<p>Jack started to follow her out of the room, but stopped when he realized Rosie was staring at the wall again. She was frowning and had a hard set to her shoulders, another move he remembered well. He coughed to get her attention; best to set the record straight on at least one detail.</p>
<p>“Just so you know,” he began, “Phryne wanted to tell you about our research from the beginning.”</p>
<p>Rosie nodded curtly. She didn’t look like she was going to otherwise respond, so he started out the door again, only to turn around at the unexpected sound of her voice.</p>
<p>“I won’t break, you know,” she reminded him, chin lifted and defiant once more. “I always hated it when you… I’m not fragile.”</p>
<p>Jack shook his head. “I don’t think you’re fragile, Rosie. I <em>know</em> you’re not fragile.”</p>
<p>“Then why did you keep this from me? I could have… helped. Contributed. Asked better questions, done… done <em>something</em>!”</p>
<p>Jack let out a long breath. “I just thought after all you’ve been through, with me, with your father and… everything, you deserved to keep some faith in people.”</p>
<p>Rosie’s expression softened and she took a step towards him. “Jack, look at this room. Look at everything you and Phryne have done for me.” She smiled at him, reaching out to touch his arm. “My faith is fine.”</p>
<p>Jack nodded and hoped against hope it remained that way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lights from the large house spilled out into the night, the sounds of a party drifting down the drive.</p>
<p>From a parked car, one long leg swung out onto the gravel. Following the same trajectory, Phryne extended her arm, graciously allowing herself to be helped from the car. </p>
<p>She smiled at the man currently holding her hand. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” he replied, offering her his arm which she took as they began walking to the front door. A member of the staff greeted them, taking her wrap and handing her a drink as they were escorted into the ballroom. Phryne took a sip and surveyed the room: the usual suspects at one of these things. </p>
<p>“Good evening my boy, glad you could — oh, and who do we have here?”</p>
<p>Phryne turned at the question, meeting a most charming smile and flashing one of her own. “Phryne Fisher. And you must be our gracious host.”</p>
<p>“Uh, yes, Julius Barnes.” The man’s smile fell at her name and he shot a confused look at her date. “Hank? I wasn’t aware you two knew each other.”</p>
<p>“We didn’t,” Hank said. “Until this week, that is. I ran into Miss Fisher at that lecture I attended at Jude’s College.”</p>
<p>“Marvelous coincidence,” Phryne added. “We got to talking afterward, and I was fascinated by your organization’s approach to food security. I was hoping to learn more, so Hank here was kind enough to invite me as his date tonight.”</p>
<p>“Was he then?” Julius smiled again, but this time it was tight and a bit forced. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Miss Fisher. I am well acquainted with your aunt.”</p>
<p>“Lucky you,” she winked.</p>
<p>Julius nodded. “Well, enjoy the party. We’re all very excited to finally have everything up and running.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Hank was saying you had some issues with the permits?”</p>
<p>“Well it’s a new idea and innovation takes time.”</p>
<p>“Can you tell me about it?” she asked. “Hank’s given me an overview, but I would love to hear more.”</p>
<p>Julius reacted exactly as she’d hoped he would and perked up immediately; he might not be happy she was there but he was also the type of man who was <em>always</em> happy to have an audience.</p>
<p>“Of course! What we’re doing here in Melbourne is creating a residential suburb where inner-city, rent-paying families evicted during the depression will be provided with homes through a rent-purchase program.”</p>
<p>“So food <em>and</em> housing security.”</p>
<p>“Exactly!” Julius boomed. “It’s the next logical step.” She saw the moment it occurred to him that she herself was a woman of means. “And perhaps we can count on you to help us plant some seeds and spread the word?”</p>
<p>“Oh I think Miss Fisher’s spread quite enough as it is,” a familiar female voice cut in.</p>
<p>Phryne, Hank and Julius all turned in unison to see the party’s newest arrivals staring at the trio with a mix of surprise and irritation on their faces. Well, surprise, irritation and a slight wince in Rosie’s case. Poor thing. </p>
<p>Earlier in the week, Phryne had suggested to her that they play up the cattiness everyone would expect from their meeting, to keep people distracted at the party. But it clearly didn’t sit well with the other woman despite her apparent adeptness at the game. Phryne tried to shoot her a subtly encouraging look right before plastering on the most obviously fake smile she could for their audience.</p>
<p>“Miss Sanderson. How lovely to see you again.” She spared no more than a quick flick of attention at Jack. “Inspector.”</p>
<p>“Miss Fisher,” he greeted. “I wasn’t aware you were attending this evening.”</p>
<p>“She’s here with me,” Hank informed him, taking a step forward.</p>
<p>“Ah,” Jack said, the one syllable word somehow both terse and loaded.</p>
<p>“It’s good to see you again,” Phryne said, quieter than normal, quieter than even she’d meant to. Jack nodded at her, and to the casual observer it was merely a perfunctory polite gesture. But she’d made a study of Jack Robinson, and she could see the flash of sadness in his eyes. </p>
<p>One more night.</p>
<p>“I could use a drink,” Rosie announced suddenly, eyeing the bar. She took Jack’s hand, clearly intending to lead him there, but Phryne stopped her with a hand to her other arm.</p>
<p>“I’ll join you,” she said. </p>
<p>The awkward silence that followed from the assembled group was almost comical.</p>
<p>“If that’s alright with you,” Phryne continued. “I was hoping we’d have a chance to speak tonight anyway. Alone,” she added pointedly.</p>
<p>Rosie looked genuinely stunned, which Phryne supposed was fair. The other woman wasn’t used to following her lead like Jack, who had rolled with the suggestion with the perfect mix of  surprise and protective outrage.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if that’s — ”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, Jack.” Rosie assured him. “I’m sure Miss Fisher just wants to discuss the Society’s work in Melbourne.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Phryne agreed, moving with Rosie towards the bar and leaving all three men bewildered behind them.</p>
<p>Once they were out of earshot, Rosie leaned in slightly. “What — ”</p>
<p>Phryne cut her off with a quick shake of her head. “Grab a champagne flute and then lead me towards the guest quarters.”</p>
<p>Rosie did as she was asked and a few minutes later they were in Hank’s room, the lock a mere formality that Phryne did away with in moments.</p>
<p>Once inside, Rosie hung back nervously by the door.</p>
<p>“What are we looking for?” she asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Phryne said, donning a pair of gloves from her handbag and starting to look through some correspondence on the desk. “Ideally a note saying ‘I did it’ but I’ve never been quite so lucky as that before.”</p>
<p>From her post by the door, Rosie worried at her bottom lip. “Do you really think Hank had something to do with this?”</p>
<p>Phryne looked up. “Honestly? I’ve no idea. We have a pocketful of jigsaw pieces and no idea how they all go together. I’m hoping we find a corner piece or two tonight, or… ”</p>
<p>“Or,” Rosie repeated, well aware how tight their window had become. She took a deep breath and started looking around hesitantly. They found a library’s worth of books on farming techniques, three drawers with soil samples and an application for a new species of rose, but nothing particularly incriminating.</p>
<p>Phryne poked her head out the door to be sure the hall was empty, then followed Rosie to Charlie and Lizzie Evans’ room. Once inside they started searching again, Rosie having found her sea legs and exploring the room in greater earnest this time. The Evanses were not as neat as Hank Marshall  — on the bed alone was a tube of Lizzie’s deep red lipstick, a discarded fur stole, a pair of gloves and some crumpled blue wrappers. And the same amount of detritus could be found on almost every surface. The room was just covered in <em>things</em>.</p>
<p>Moving across the cluttered floor, Phryne opened a wardrobe and whistled. “Mrs Evans has excellent taste in frocks.”</p>
<p>“She does, yes.” </p>
<p>“You know what Charlie makes — can they afford this?”</p>
<p>Rosie shrugged. “I suppose they must.”</p>
<p>“Hmmmm.” Phryne offered noncommittally. She dropped to her knees and looked under the bed, pulling out a small box. She opened it and found a large stash of green packets. Rosie read the labels on them over her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Headache powders. Lizzie gets terrible headaches, especially after these public events. Poor thing.”</p>
<p>Phryne put them back and stood. “Anything in Charlie’s belongings?”</p>
<p>“Not that I can find. Anna now?” Rosie asked.</p>
<p>“Anna now,” Phryne confirmed.</p>
<p>Again they snuck through the halls, quickly and quietly until they were behind the bookkeeper’s closed door.</p>
<p>“We should be quick,” Rosie warned. “We’ve been gone an awfully long time already. People might come looking.”</p>
<p>“People will start talking,” Phryne corrected. “But they won’t come looking. The longer we’re gone, the better the gossip. And people love to gossip.”</p>
<p>Rosie stopped searching Anna’s desk and regarded Phryne seriously. “Yes, they do. Recently I’ve discovered just how much.” She took a deep breath and moved towards the other woman. “Phryne, I think maybe I owe you an — ”</p>
<p>“You owe me nothing,” Phryne interrupted, not looking up from the nightstand. “You were understandably worried about Jack, and you were being fed bad intel by people you trusted, and that was all literally years ago.”</p>
<p>“But I — ”</p>
<p>“You owe me nothing.” Phryne repeated, putting down the book in her hand and turning to face the other woman. “Let’s just consider it a… unique start to a friendship.” She laughed. “You should hear how Mac and I met.”</p>
<p>Rosie tilted her head slightly. “Is that what we are? Friends?”</p>
<p>Phryne smiled softly. “I’d like to think so. I’d certainly like us to be.”</p>
<p>Rosie returned the smile, small but genuine. “Me too.”</p>
<p>“Good. So, friends who occasionally perform illegal searches together then. Can never have enough of those.”</p>
<p>Rosie laughed and returned to the desk. “I do feel a bit bad for Jack, though, leaving him so long with Julius and Hank. For some reason, Hank doesn’t seem to like him much.”</p>
<p>Phryne chuckled from inside the walk-in closet. “Yes. For <em>some</em> <em>reason</em>.”</p>
<p>“What?” Rosie asked in confusion.</p>
<p>Phryne returned to the room, shaking her head at the other woman’s obliviousness. “It’s not that he doesn’t like Jack, Rosie. Or, it’s not <em>only</em> that he doesn’t like Jack. It’s who he does like.”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>Phryne rolled her eyes with a commitment that would have made Jack proud. “<em>You</em>, Rosie, he likes you!”</p>
<p>“Me? That’s… we’re just friends.”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>“We are.”</p>
<p>“I believe you, Rosie, I do. But the point remains that Hank would very much like to be more than that.”</p>
<p>“How… you just met him, how could you know that?”</p>
<p>“I’ve studied all Jack’s notes. It’s quite obvious if you read between the lines. Why do you think I chose Hank as my way in tonight?”</p>
<p>“I… I’m sure I…” Rosie blushed furiously and turned back to the desk.</p>
<p>Phryne rolled her lips together to suppress a smile and moved back to the wardrobe.</p>
<p>A moment later, Rosie stopped what she was doing. “Phryne? Come look at this.”</p>
<p>Phryne joined her at the desk and looked where Rosie was indicating. In the third drawer on the left there was a jewelry box, which covered up a notebox beneath it. Phryne gingerly lifted it up and out of its hiding spot. The notebook was filled with loose papers and Phryne opened it slowly, careful not to let anything fall out. There were a lot of annotations, and the handwriting rivaled Jack’s for illegibility, but one name stood out plain as day.</p>
<p>Florence Hopkins.</p>
<p>“Well… what do we have here?” Phryne asked.</p>
<p>The cock of a gun caused both Phryne and Rosie to spin around in surprise.</p>
<p>“Just what I was wondering,” Anna Walker said from behind a loaded pistol.</p>
<p><em>Hell of a corner piece</em>, Phryne thought as Anna closed and locked the door, trapping the three of them inside.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The one aspect of Rosie's organization that I borrowed from somewhere else was the idea mentioned in this chapter, and credit where credit is due. In 1932 Anglican minister Robert Hammond created a residential suburb near Sydney where inner-city, rent-paying families evicted during the Depression were provided with homes through a rent-purchase program. In just five and a half years, the settlement grew from nine to 110 wooden cottages and acquired a primary school, a community hall and a number of shops: it was the nucleus of what is now the suburb of Hammondville.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack watched the two women walk away and mentally revised his plan for the evening. He’d been assuming he and Rosie would be together most of the time, but it seemed Phryne had other ideas. Which, he realized, would allow him a greater latitude in certain respects. He’d been treading lightly so far as the would-be paramour of their colleague and friend. But with Rosie gone he could finally ask some real questions and <em>hopefully</em> get some real answers. <em>Well done, Phryne,</em> he thought. A cat amongst the pigeons indeed.</p><p>Jack channeled his inner thespian and turned to Hank, his tone equal parts angry and disbelieving. </p><p>“What the hell are you playing at, man?” he hissed.</p><p>“Now, Jack…” Julius began, ever the peacemaker.</p><p>“No, it’s a fair question,” Hank said, matching the anger in Jack’s tone. “And to answer it, I’m not <em>playing</em> at anything. Unlike some people, I don’t trifle with the affections of kind and far too forgiving women. I asked a lovely and accomplished lady to accompany me to a party. That’s all. And if you no longer have any feelings for Miss Fisher, <em>as you claim</em>, then I fail to see the issue.”</p><p>“The issue,” Jack said through clenched teeth, “is how the presence of my former… partner might make Rosie feel.”</p><p>Hank flinched and Jack could see immediately that the man had not considered that particular consequence. Well, to be fair, Phryne had very likely orchestrated the entire thing and Hank had only ever had the illusion of considering anything himself anyway. He sputtered for a moment, then muttered something about needing a drink himself, before abruptly leaving in the direction of the bar.</p><p>Julius watched him go before turning back to Jack with a grimace.</p><p>“I’m sorry about that. It’s just that Hank’s rather protective of Rosie. They grew quite close in Sydney, you know.”</p><p>Quite close and yet she never <em>once</em> tried to argue that he couldn't possibly be a suspect. Jack grit his teeth and looked away — if he could shoot Sidney Fletcher a second time, he would.</p><p>Julius misunderstood Jack’s reaction and rushed to clarify.</p><p>“Just friends, of course. And really, Hank’s usually much more level-headed.”</p><p>Well. </p><p>Jack knew better than to look a gift opening in the mouth.</p><p>“I’m not so sure that’s true, Mr Barnes,” he said, turning back to the older man and dropping his voice a touch. “I’ve heard a rather distressing rumour about Mr Marshall. Something about a particularly violent altercation with a colleague.”</p><p>
Julius grimaced again; it was an odd expression to see on his usually gregarious face. “Oh that. Yes, I’m aware.”</p><p>“And it doesn’t concern you?”</p><p>“I won’t go into the particulars, because frankly it’s neither your nor my business, but Hank had discovered certain… details about that colleague’s behavior towards a student. He confronted the colleague and, unfortunately, it turned violent, though not nearly as violent as the rumours would have you believe. They were both dismissed from the college, though I believe the other chap is in jail now. And, in any case, Hank’s actions were well-intentioned, if rash, and most importantly have never been repeated.”</p><p>Jack nodded. That actually fit with his assessment of the man, and was a huge weight off his mind considering Hank’s obvious feelings for Rosie. He wasn’t done vetting the man yet — for the case or his former wife — but this was at least an understandable motive for his most worrying behavior.</p><p>“I think I might want a drink now, too,” Jack said, eyeing the bar. If he was quick about it he could catch up to Hank and question him about Julius. Jack turned to his host. “Can I get you anything?”</p><p>The other man shook his head. “No, I’m still working on my first. You go have fun. I’m sure the ladies will be back any minute.”</p><p>Jack wasn’t so sure about that himself, but nodded in agreement all the same. He moved through the now full room in the direction of the bar, but by the time he made it there, Hank was nowhere in sight. Jack sighed and ordered a Whiskey Highball with extra soda water. He was just heading back to look for his suspects when a familiar voice stopped him.</p><p>“Inspector.”</p><p>Jack braced himself before turning towards the owner of the voice to meet the disapproving and displeased face of Prudence Stanley.</p><p>Perfect.</p><p>“Mrs Stanley,” Jack greeted as politely as possible. “I wasn’t aware you were attending tonight’s event.”</p><p>“Yes, well, I told Julius I would and I make it a point to follow through on my commitments. One of my better qualities if I do say so myself. And one of my niece's as well. Steadfast, Phryne is. Dear, sweet girl.”</p><p>Fucking perfect.</p><p>“She is at that,” Jack agreed. </p><p>“Pity it seems to be such a rare quality these days,” Prudence sniffed, raising a challenging eyebrow as she did. “Fidelity.”</p><p>Jack sighed. The hardest part of being away from Phryne was being away from Phryne, but the <em>second</em> hardest part was dealing with the ire of her particularly loyal little family. Jack and Phryne had agreed not to involve their friends or her staff in this, thinking the ruse would be over practically before it began, but as it dragged on, there had been repercussions from that decision, mostly in the form of looks that could kill being hurled Jack’s way. He’d done a good job of avoiding most of them as best he could, but did see the red raggers around town occasionally and he was honestly surprised Dot Collins hadn’t run him through with a knitting needle at the station yet; she’d certainly looked ready to. </p><p>The only person they’d told was Mac, because both Phryne and Jack agreed she could be trusted to keep their secret and also that she might <em>actually</em> kill Jack if properly motivated.</p><p>Jack didn’t like to think about the second part too hard.</p><p>“Mrs Stanley, I assure you, I hold your niece in the highest regard,” Jack told her, trying to calm the waters.</p><p>“Second highest at any rate, Inspector. Or have you thrown your former wife over again as well?”</p><p>Jack sighed once more. This charade really couldn’t end fast enough. But since he did seem to be stuck here…</p><p>“No, Rosie is around somewhere, Mrs Stanley. And I’m certain she’d love to speak with you before you go. Did you say you knew the host well?”</p><p>Prudence looked up at him in surprise, clearly not expecting that change in the conversation. But the rules of etiquette meant that she answered all the same. “Julius? Well enough. He was friends with my Edward for years before he moved to Sydney.”</p><p>“Oh yes, he used to live in Melbourne. I heard he had some property here still. Strange he didn’t have his people stay there instead.”</p><p>“Well he did have property,” Prudence told him, “but he’s sold most of it off now.”</p><p>“Oh? Why is that?”</p><p>“His solicitor in Melbourne passed away and he didn’t have anyone to manage the properties anymore. Apparently this was easier.”</p><p>“I thought perhaps he might be facing some financial hardships after the recent market crashes.”</p><p>Prudence narrowed her eyes and straightened her posture. “Then your information is as atrocious as your integrity. Juluis is a major player in several manufacturing enterprises, which, as you know, are driving our nation’s important recovery efforts. He’s doing very well, and I’ll thank you not to gossip about the man paying for your whisky. Good evening, Inspector.”</p><p>With that she spun around and marched away, etiquette be damned.</p><p>Jack blinked at her sudden exit, then took a sip of his drink, wishing it were stronger and larger and being served in Phryne’s parlour. But since none of those things were true, he just mentally added what Prudence had said to his dossier on Julius Barnes. Still wealthy, then, if Mrs Stanley was correct, and she almost always was. It didn’t eliminate him as a suspect, of course, but it eliminated money as his motive. </p><p>Still mulling this new information over, Jack once again went in search of his small suspect pool, but was waylaid by a particularly talkative judge who cornered him for the better part of half an hour by the hors d'oeuvres. </p><p>He could only hope Phryne and Rosie were having better luck.</p><p>---------------------</p><p>Staring down Anna Walker, who currently had a loaded gun trained on her and her companion, Phryne took a moment to curse her luck. Her own revolver was several feet away in her handbag — Phryne often had pockets sewn into her gowns for easier access, but this number didn’t leave much room for either the imagination or firearms — and Anna didn’t look like the type to balk. </p><p>Phryne was just debating whether or not she could kick the gun out of her hand when she heard a loud sob from her right. She looked over just as Rosie burst into tears and rushed Anna, encircling her in a tight hug.</p><p>“Oh thank goodness you’re here, Anna,” she bawled. “I didn’t know what to do!”</p><p>Anna was so startled by the move she just stared at Rosie, dumbfounded, which Phryne took excellent advantage of — she moved forward, relieving Anna of the gun and pointing it back at her so fast the other woman didn’t realize anything was happening until it was over. </p><p>Seeing Phryne holding the gun, Rosie stepped back and patted her eyes dry. </p><p>Despite the circumstances, Phryne grinned. “Well done, Rosie,” she cheered. “That settles it, I’m <em>definitely</em> taking you on all future break-ins. Where on earth did you learn that?”</p><p>“The artifice seemed worth a try and I did a little acting when I was younger,” Rosie told her with a small shrug. “With Jack actually.”</p><p>Phryne spared a quick glance at her accomplice before turning her attention back to Anna. “Oh, you <em>must</em> tell me about that; he won’t say a word about his Major General!”</p><p>“Oh I can do you one better than that — I have photographs. In <em>costume</em>.”</p><p>Phryne cackled at the thought, which is what finally broke Anna out of her daze.</p><p>“Not to interrupt the party,” Anna said, eyeing the gun and slowly crossing her arms, “but who the hell are you and what are you and Rosie doing in my room?”</p><p>“You know, I can’t believe how many times I have to explain this, but the person with the gun asks the questions.” Phryne rolled her eyes and shrugged. “But since I’m in a friendly mood, my name is Phryne Fisher. I’m a private detective.”</p><p>Anna’s eyes widened and she looked between the two women in surprise. “<em>The</em> Phryne Fisher? Really?”</p><p>Rosie put her hands on her hips. “Yes, <em>really</em>. I hired her. To find out what happened to Florence Hopkins.” She picked up Anna’s notes and held them out in silent accusation. “Someone it appears you’re well acquainted with.”</p><p>Anna’s arms dropped. “Wait, you’re investigating Florence’s death too?”</p><p>Phryne raised an eyebrow. “<em>Too</em>?”</p><p>Anna started to move towards her notes, then remembered the gun. “May I?” she asked. </p><p>Phryne took a step back and gestured towards the desk, indicating Anna could pass. The other woman moved over and took her notes from Rosie, then spread them on the desk. “I started looking into it before we left Sydney. This is everything I have so far,” she said, showing them her work.</p><p>Phryne nodded at the mass of notes. “Perhaps you can tell us what we’re looking at.”</p><p>“Financial reports,” Anna said. “Florence Hopkins, but also seven other recipients of the Homegrown Society’s support.” She looked up again at the gun. “Look, unless you’re planning to shoot me, perhaps we could do without that? Since we all seem to have the same goal here?”</p><p>“And why do we have the same goal?” Phryne asked suspiciously, though she lowered the weapon all the same. She didn’t put it down fully though — as far as she was concerned, Anna had earned a temporary reprieve, not a free pass. </p><p>“Because there was money missing from the safe,” Anna said with a small flash of anger. “And the general consensus seems to be some kind of bookkeeping error.”</p><p>“So?” Rosie prodded. “No one was upset with you. Julius was adamant it was an honest mistake, that the money had never been there to begin with.”</p><p>“I don’t make mistakes,” Anna informed her. “The people I worked with before, you made a mistake, you… you didn’t get a chance to make another. I know what I’m doing, and I didn’t miscount that money. And then the same amount is found on one of our clients? It can’t be a coincidence.”</p><p>“And the reports?” Phryne asked.</p><p>“When I went digging into Florence Hopkins’ file, I looked over her store’s financial reports.” She turned to Phryne to explain. </p><p>“Every applicant is required to submit one, so we can make sure the store won’t just mismanage the investment. We need to make sure we’re not just throwing good money after bad. I didn’t find any irregularities, but then I started looking at everyone’s initial reports, and I found a pattern.”</p><p>Anna pointed to some numbers in her notebook and on the loose paper, trying to highlight her findings.</p><p>“All eight of these reports are… well the numbers aren’t the same, but the ratios are. Look.” She pointed at two in particular to make her point. “The difference on this line is 10%, here it’s 7% and here it’s 5%. If you look between all of them, it’s the same on every line. And the odds of eight reports all having these <em>precise</em> differences… frankly I can’t calculate it. It’s like someone just plugged in a formula.”</p><p>“What if someone did?” Phryne asked. “Who could do that?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Anna admitted. “Or, frankly, why they would. I went over each of these business’ current financials as well. None of them are doing wonderfully, but none are doing so badly as to warrant concern.”</p><p>Phryne frowned. “Do the applicants themselves have anything in common?”</p><p>Rosie was flipping through Anna’s notes, clearly understanding them more now that she had some context. “Not that I can see. I know all of these people. They live in different parts of town, come from different situations. This woman here is also a widow, like Florence, but Mr Gregory just took over his store from ailing parents. And this couple runs the store together with their five young children. There’s no common thread that I can see.”</p><p>Phryne bit her bottom lip in frustration. “I’m missing something here, I know it. Damn! I wish I could access Jack’s notes.”</p><p>“Oh,” Rosie looked up suddenly. “They're here. In the boot of Jack’s car. He thought you two might need them tonight, so he brought them.”</p><p>Phryne grinned. “Oh that clever man.” She looked over at Anna. “Anything else of note?”</p><p>“No,” Anna admitted. “I’m not <em>actually</em> an investigator. I spotted the numbers, but that’s it. I rather stalled weeks ago, but I was hoping something remarkable might present itself.”</p><p>“And here we are,” Phryne said, with a smile and nod at Rosie, who she then turned to address. “I need those files, Rosie. Can you find Jack and ask him to meet me in… is there an empty room in this place?”</p><p>“There’s one at the end of the hall on the left,” Rosie told her. “The owner removed all the furniture for refurbishment before we arrived, but hasn’t replaced any of it yet.”</p><p>“Excellent. Ask Jack to meet me there in 45 minutes. I need to acquire those files and make a telephone call to Sydney. Something is nagging me.” She turned back to Anna. “You should go back to the party, act normally. Don’t mention any of this.”</p><p>“I’m not even sure I know what <em>this</em> is,” Anna admitted.</p><p>“Then that should be easy. And I’m taking this,” Phryne indicated Anna’s gun, “with me. You can have it back after we resolve all this.”</p><p>Anna huffed, but did not argue the point.</p><p>Phryne dropped it in her handbag and regarded the other woman carefully. “Why <em>do</em> you have a gun, Anna? You must be the most well-armed bookkeeper I’ve ever met.”</p><p>Anna gave a small shrug. “Old habits. I used to carry one with me all the time, and then given what happened to Florence… it seemed wise to be prepared while I investigated. Though, I’ll admit, I certainly wasn’t expecting to find you two in here.” Anna turned to look at Rosie. “So, just to be clear, you’re <em>not</em> back together with your ex-husband?”</p><p>Rosie shook her head. “No, Jack just needed a reason to interview everyone without raising suspicion. He’s a friend, that’s all.”</p><p>Anna laughed. “Well Hank will be pleased at any rate.”</p><p>Rosie’s jaw dropped a little, before she narrowed her eyes and practically marched out of the room in irritation, Anna and Phryne amused and close behind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>According to Wikipedia, Australia's economic recovery during the 1930s was led by the manufacturing sector. Thanks Julius et. al.!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Finally managing to extricate himself from the judge’s small talk, Jack caught sight of Rosie and breathed a sigh of relief. He made a beeline for her and she waved him over, taking his proffered arm and leaning up to whisper in his ear.</p>
<p>“Phryne wants you to meet her in 45 minutes in one of the unused rooms in the guest wing. End of the hallway, all the way on the left.”</p>
<p>Jack nodded and checked his watch for the current time. “Did she say why?”</p>
<p>“She wants to compare notes.” Rosie then filled him in on everything they’d found, which Jack mentally filed away. “Anything new to report out here?” she asked when she was done.</p>
<p>Jack shrugged. “Julius Barnes is likely not having the financial difficulties we thought and Hank Marshall had good reason for the physical altercation at his old position.” Jack glanced over at Rosie. “Which I imagine might be welcome news?”</p>
<p>She stared up at him in surprise. “Did <em>everyone</em> know except me?”</p>
<p>Jack rolled his lips together as he tried not to smirk. “Maybe not everyone,” he conceded. “The cook seemed to be rooting for me.”</p>
<p>Rosie rolled her eyes, almost certainly about to make a smart remark about his appetite, but before she could, they were interrupted by the arrival of Charlie and Lizzie Evans.</p>
<p>“Good evening, Rosie. Jack,” Charlie greeted amiably. “Swell party.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes,” Rosie agreed. “Jack and I were just saying the same thing.”</p>
<p>“So many people, though,” Lizzie added. “I always get overwhelmed by big crowds. Charlie is so much better at talking to people.”</p>
<p>Charlie laughed. “That’s because it’s my job. I get to know people for a living. And lucky thing too, or I might never have met you.”</p>
<p>“How <em>did</em> you meet?” Rosie inquired. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard this story.”</p>
<p>“It’s hardly a story,” Charlie demurred. “I was working as a loan officer in a bank that Lizzie often visited with her parents. Every Tuesday at 2pm,” he added with a grin.</p>
<p>“I didn’t want to be there,” Lizzie explained, “but my parents insisted. Wanted to teach me fiscal responsibility after…" She paused and looked up at her husband in surprise. "I didn’t realize it was always the same time each week.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes,” Charlie said. “I made sure I never had any appointments during that hour, just so I could try and catch your eye.”</p>
<p>“How sweet!” Rosie exclaimed, hanging on Jack’s arm and Charlie’s every word. Or, at least, she seemed to be. Jack wasn’t sure if she was genuinely interested or fishing for information. He had to give her credit, perhaps she had more of a knack for this than he had realized. “When did you finally introduce yourself?” she asked.</p>
<p>Charlie smiled. “Several months into her visits we bumped into each other by the tea station. I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk… in Sorrento.”</p>
<p>Lizzie laughed. “He meant it, too. Whisked me away that very weekend. Just so we could walk on unfamiliar streets.”</p>
<p>Charlie shrugged and pulled Lizzie in closer by her waist. “I told you, love, I can read people, and the moment I saw you I knew you wanted more out of life, wanted excitement and meaning.” A shadow crossed her face at that, a memory of something, but Charlie brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and it disappeared immediately. “I just wanted to be the one to give it to you,” he told her.</p>
<p>Lizzie smiled at him, her face absolutely adoring, and kissed him on the edge of his mouth. Then she seemed to remember they were talking to people and turned back to Jack and Rosie. </p>
<p>“Oh, but how did you two meet?” she asked.</p>
<p>“Oh yes, do tell,” Charlie encouraged with a laugh. “After hearing about The Great Gardenia Massacre the other evening, I can only imagine this story is another corker.”</p>
<p>Rosie looked up at Jack as though asking his permission; this was not a story they had told a hundred times before. Jack nodded and squeezed her arm.</p>
<p>“A book actually,” Rosie said, addressing the young couple. “He was reading O. Henry, which was fairly unusual for a constable on the night shift.”</p>
<p>“Rosie was bringing tea to her father,” Jack explained. “She happened to see the book and made some insightful comment about his narrative style. I, of course, was immediately in love.” He looked down at her with a small smile. “I will forever be grateful her father requested tea from home that night.”</p>
<p>Rosie looked away. “About that…”</p>
<p>“Rosie?”</p>
<p>“I lied. Father didn’t ask for the tea. I just showed up.”</p>
<p>“In the middle of the night? Why — ”</p>
<p>“Well how else was I supposed to get the adorable new constable’s attention? I thought <em>maybe</em> if he was bored and alone on the night shift I might at least have a chance.” Jack looked at her in surprise. “Well, I was in there all the time and you were always too busy with your duties to notice me,” she explained.</p>
<p>Jack shook his head. “I noticed,” he said softly.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Lizzie sighed, her head on Charlie’s shoulder. “How romantic.” She turned to Charlie. “I hope we’re still surprising each other in ten years.”</p>
<p>Charlie kissed the top of her head. “My dear, I guarantee it.” He looked back at Jack and Rosie. “But, if you’ll excuse us, I promised my wife a waltz. Perhaps you’d like to join us?”</p>
<p>“Uhhh,” Jack stammered. “That’s alright, you go on. My waltz is a bit rusty.”</p>
<p>“Of course.” And then they were off, holding each other so tight it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. </p>
<p>Jack leaned back against the wall and watched them for a moment, getting lost in his own memories of that particular dance.</p>
<p>“How did you meet Phryne?” Rosie asked, interrupting his musing.</p>
<p>“Am I that easy to read?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Only sometimes,” she told him, and he could see she meant it. “But I am curious. I’ve never heard the story.”</p>
<p>“Crime scene,” Jack said. “She interfered, obviously. Made some frustratingly astute observations, naturally. Took my card and then plagued me forever more. Thankfully.” He shrugged. “Not your standard story, but it works for us.”</p>
<p>Rosie was quiet for a moment, holding his arm and watching the dance before them. Finally she spoke, slowly, but without hesitation, her eyes still on the couples twirling around them.</p>
<p>“I like her, you know. Quite a lot. And you… you’re good together. I can see it. You’re at ease with her in a way you weren’t with me. Not for a long time anyway.” She gave a little huff of sad laughter. “I suppose I overwatered you.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t leave you any instructions,” he said quietly. “After the… I didn’t have any to give, Rosie. God knows I wish I had.” Jack closed his eyes for just a moment before turning slightly to look at his former wife. “But even without them, you still... you still kept me alive. Please don’t ever discount that. I don’t.”</p>
<p>Rosie looked up and met his gaze, her eyes wet but her smile sincere. She leaned up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “We’re better this way, I think. The people we are now are better this way. But I will forever be grateful for Mr Henry all the same.”</p>
<p>Then she stepped back and they quietly watched the dance until their time was up.</p>
<p>---------------------</p>
<p>45 minutes to the second after Rosie had delivered her message, Jack entered the spare room to find Phryne on the floor, their notes and the photographs of the crime scene all spread before her.</p>
<p>
Jack closed the door and leaned back against it, the corners of his lips quirking up as he did. “You broke into my car,” he stated, somewhat unnecessarily.</p>
<p>She didn’t look back, but Jack could feel her smiling. “Darling, if you didn’t want me to break in, you wouldn’t have had Rosie tell me what was in it.”</p>
<p>Jack shrugged in acquiescence, then joined her on the floor. “What are we looking for?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Rosie filled you in on what we found?”</p>
<p>“She did,” Jack confirmed. “She also said you needed to telephone Sydney?”</p>
<p>“Mmmm. I had asked one of the officers I befriended — ”</p>
<p>“Bewitched.”</p>
<p>“... while I was there to look into that police report Florence Hopkins retracted.”</p>
<p>“And?” Jack asked.</p>
<p>“He found the officer who took the original complaint. Petty theft. Some sweets and other goods were stolen from the counter, but it turned out her son and some of his friends were the culprits. She asked to handle it herself and the officer in charge agreed.”</p>
<p>“A pack of 10-year-old boys? Hardly the criminal network we were looking for.”</p>
<p>“No, but it’s all connected somehow, I can feel it.”</p>
<p>Jack scooted a little closer to her, allowing himself the luxury of placing a soft kiss to her neck before focusing on the notes in front of her. “Alright, so let’s start pulling strings until we find the one that unravels this. What do we know so far?”</p>
<p>Phryne leaned back onto his chest, resting the back of her head in the crook of his neck. “We know Florence Hopkins died under somewhat suspicious circumstances of a head injury — ostensibly from a fall off a ladder she was unlikely to be on — days after her son stole some sweeties and the day <em>before</em> she was supposed to meet Rosie to discuss something important.”</p>
<p>Jack stroked her arm absently and continued laying out the facts. “She was found with 50£ on her, which was the exact amount missing from the Society’s safe, which only six people had access to — ”</p>
<p>“And which Anna Walker swears was accounted for the day before the death. And, thanks again to Anna, we know Florence’s financial reports were probably doctored before her application was accepted, as were seven other applicants.”</p>
<p>Jack hummed to himself. “Do you trust Miss Walker?” he asked.</p>
<p>Phryne considered the question for a moment. “I do.”</p>
<p>“Then let’s assume that information is also correct. The question becomes… why? Why alter the financial records in the applications?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps the people who didn’t meet the Society’s criteria bribed someone to get them in?” Phryne wondered out loud.</p>
<p>Jack shook his head. “If they had enough for a proper bribe, it’s unlikely they would need to alter their financials to qualify.”</p>
<p>Jack leaned forward, shifting Phryne with him, and picked up one of the photographs. “You looked at the store when you were there, right? Did anything seem... off?”</p>
<p>Phryne stared at the image. “Not really. Most of the inventory was gone by then anyway and — Jack, give me your magnifying glass!”</p>
<p>Jack handed her the little pouch from his breast pocket and looked with her at the photograph. </p>
<p>“Look at the counter,” she instructed. “Do you see that? It’s hard to tell in black and white but I believe I found both of these in my search tonight. And look at what they cost.”</p>
<p>“Two different brands, two significantly different prices. Why on earth would anyone buy the more expensive one?”</p>
<p>“They wouldn’t.” Phryne sat up straight. “But what if that was the point?”</p>
<p>Jack nodded slowly at first and then more quickly as an idea came to him. He rifled through his notes until he found the one he was looking for. “Recognize the name of that import company?” Phryne gave a small gasp. “Coincidence?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe in them.” She smiled over her shoulder at him. “Now fate…”</p>
<p>Jack stood up and offered a hand down to her. “Do you want to do the honours?”</p>
<p>She accepted his help and pulled herself up. “Together I think. You’ll assemble everyone?”</p>
<p>“I think we have to, unless…”</p>
<p>“No, that’s best,” she agreed. “And I’ll get the sample to make certain.” </p>
<p>Jack tilted his head down and smirked. “Not too much, Phryne? Hmmm?”</p>
<p>She winked at him. “No promises, darling.” Then she leaned up to kiss him, wiping her excess lipstick off his lips with her thumb when she was done. “Conservatory?” she suggested. Jack nodded in agreement, her finger still on his lip. “Give me a good head start?” she whispered.</p>
<p>“As always,” he replied.</p>
<p>She smiled then turned to go. “See you soon, Jack,” she called over her shoulder.</p>
<p>Jack watched her leave, then returned the notes and photographs to the box he’d brought them in, carrying it with him as he left the room himself.</p>
<p>Soon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack used the host’s telephone to call City South, then caught up to Rosie by the desserts. </p>
<p>“Did I miss anything?” he asked quietly, maneuvering her over to a more private location.</p>
<p>“Hank apologized to me for being an inconsiderate arse with his choice of companion for the evening, which I appreciated even if it was completely unnecessary. Did you and Phryne find anything?”</p>
<p>Jack glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, then whispered their suspicions to her. He was worried she would take it badly, but after allowing herself a moment to process the news, simply asked, “What do you need?”</p>
<p>He squeezed her hand in comfort and thanks. “We need to assemble everyone in the conservatory. Can you help?”</p>
<p>Rosie nodded, then grimaced slightly. “Would you hate me if I told everyone we had a big announcement?”</p>
<p>Jack shook his head. “Not a bit. And it even has the advantage of being true… though not quite what they’ll expect, I imagine.”</p>
<p>They split up to gather everyone, Jack finding Julius and the Evanses and Rosie corralling Anna and a clearly unhappy Hank into the conservatory. The group began taking seats while Jack and Rosie waited by the door; when they saw Phryne on her way down the hall, he whispered to Rosie to get everyone’s attention.</p>
<p>She walked to the front of the room and cleared her throat. “Thank you so much for joining us. I know the end of a party isn’t for announcements, but this one rather couldn’t wait.”</p>
<p>Julius beamed at her. “Of course, my dear. And, if it’s not being too presumptuous, I brought some champagne,” he said, holding up the bottle for emphasis.</p>
<p>Rosie smiled over at him, sad but trying not to show it and Jack realized in that moment just how difficult the deception had been on her. He felt like an utter cad for not seeing it sooner.</p>
<p>“Maybe hold off on that for just a tick, Julius,” she suggested. “We asked you all here — ” She stopped and looked to the back of the room, everyone following her example in short order. </p>
<p>Damn, but Phryne knew how to make an entrance.</p>
<p>“Hello everyone,” she greeted, smiling broadly. “So this is where you all ran off to.”</p>
<p>Hank stood up and walked over to her quickly. He took her hand and tried to turn her towards the door. “I’m so sorry, Phryne, this is my fault. I should never have asked you to accompany me tonight. I was being selfish and… it doesn’t matter. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for just a few minutes, I can drive you home.”</p>
<p>Phryne allowed herself to be turned but they didn’t get very far, stopped at the doorway by the imposing presence of one Mrs Prudence Stanley.</p>
<p>“Excuse me, young man, but my niece is not a basset hound to wait at your beck and call on the porch. If she wishes to remain in this room, she will <em>remain in this room</em>.”</p>
<p>“Aunt P…” Phryne began, but Prudence was on a tear now and would not be stopped.</p>
<p>“Furthermore,” she continued, “if anyone assembled thinks they can treat her with disrespect or disdain because she made a poor choice in paramour, they shall answer to me.” With that, she drew herself up to her full height and stared down every person in the room.</p>
<p>Jack watched Phryne react to her aunt’s speech and then, out of nowhere, give the older woman a hug, surprising both of them and calming Prudence’s ire, at least a little. </p>
<p>
“I have this,” Phryne said quietly, moving away from both Prudence and Hank and towards the front of the room. </p>
<p>She took a spot between Jack and Rosie, which just confused the assembled group further. Julius turned to Hank. “Henry…” he began sternly.</p>
<p>“I…” Hank looked at a total loss as to what to do. To their right, Lizzie stood shakily.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Rosie asked Lizzie, who was looking a little pale.</p>
<p>“Oh, just the end of the night and all this quarreling. I have a bit of a headache, that’s all.”</p>
<p>Phryne stepped forward, opening her purse. “Oh I have a powder, if that would help.” She pulled out a green packet and moved to hand it to the other woman. Charlie leapt up to move between them.</p>
<p>“No! No. That’s… I have one in the room, love, I’ll go get it.”</p>
<p>“Why can’t I just take this?” Lizzie asked, accepting the small package from Phryne with a smile and looking around for some water, which Jack helpfully handed her.</p>
<p>“Because you can’t,” Charlie insisted frantically, trying to grab it out of her hand. He missed and stumbled a bit before regaining his balance.</p>
<p>“Why —”</p>
<p>“Because you just can’t, goddammit!” he shouted as he literally slapped the packet out of her hand.</p>
<p>Everyone became very silent at that, unsure of what was happening.</p>
<p>“Charlie…?” Lizzie began, more concerned than afraid and more surprised than anyone. “Why can’t I take the powder?”</p>
<p>“Because it’s cocaine,” Phryne said, and once again all eyes were on her. “Isn’t that right, Mr Evans?”</p>
<p>
Charlie, for his part, looked sick.</p>
<p>“What…” Julius began a sentence he had no idea how to finish and Rosie, bless her, took control.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, everyone, I’ve not been honest with you these last months. Jack wasn’t accompanying me as my escort. When we first arrived in Melbourne, I asked him and Miss Fisher to look into the death of Florence Hopkins and this was the easiest way for him to get the information he needed. I truly hope you can forgive me, but even if you can’t I still believe it was the right thing to do.”</p>
<p>“Florence Hopkins?” Julius asked. “That poor woman who died in Sydney? I thought that was an accident.”</p>
<p>“But I didn’t,” Rosie explained. “And I needed help to prove it. Which I believe we just have.”</p>
<p>Hank took a step forward. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. What just happened?”</p>
<p>Rosie looked at Jack, who made a little motion, giving Phryne the floor. </p>
<p>“Florence Hopkins,” she began, addressing the room, “was a widow with a young son whose business was not doing well. She desperately needed the support of your Society to keep things afloat. But the problem was, she didn’t qualify — her business was doing slightly too poorly on its own to meet your criteria.”</p>
<p>“No, but she did qualify,” Lizzie said. “She must have.”</p>
<p>“Only <em>after</em> her financial documents were altered — along with seven others — something Miss Walker noticed after the poor woman’s death.” The assembled crowd looked at Anna, who nodded, confirming Phryne’s story.</p>
<p>“But why?” Hank asked. </p>
<p>“Because someone made a deal with her,” Phryne continued. “She would be accepted into the program, and receive the financial support she desperately needed, and all she had to do was carry a particularly expensive brand of headache powder. 10 times as expensive as the others she sold, in fact. Customers who bought even tipped, heavily, and then Mrs Hopkins gave all the money from that sale to her benefactor in the Society. The person who set up this whole operation.”</p>
<p>“No,” Lizzie disagreed. “That doesn’t make sense. Charlie handles all of the applications.”</p>
<p>“Precisely,” Jack said delicately. “Charlie handles all the applications. And, by his own account, he knows how to read people. Charlie identified the people who almost qualified, and who were desperate enough to agree to his terms, and he targeted them for his sideline business. It should be easy enough to prove — I imagine the other seven shop owners will be only too happy to testify once they learn what happened to Mrs Hopkins.”</p>
<p>Charlie didn’t say anything, just stared at him blankly; the man wasn’t a hardened criminal, and Jack thought perhaps, given what had almost just happened with his wife, the guilt had finally caught up with him.</p>
<p>Jack shook his head sadly. “But then Mrs Hopkins’ son and his friends stole some sweets from the counter. Some sweets and some other items, one of which was the very expensive green headache powders his mother kept in stock, and she decided she couldn’t do it anymore, she couldn’t risk someone getting hurt.”</p>
<p>Phryne turned to Charlie. “She telephoned you, didn't she? Told you she was stopping. Told you to take your product back or she’d report you to the Society. Perhaps even to the police.”</p>
<p>“I thought she was bluffing,” he mumbled to no one in particular, and Lizzie gasped.</p>
<p>“Except then you heard Rosie on the phone with her and you knew you had to act quickly. You took some money from the safe as, what, a bribe?”</p>
<p>Charlie nodded; there was really no point in denying it. </p>
<p>
“But it didn’t work. What happened, Charlie?” Phryne asked gently. “What happened when you offered her the money?”</p>
<p>“She told me to go to hell,” he said, a little bitterly. “After all I did for her. I was trying to help her! I was trying to help all of them!” He sighed. “We argued and I pushed her and she hit her head.” He looked up at Lizzie, pleadingly. “I didn’t mean to, I swear it was an accident!” He reached for his wife’s hand but she snapped it back, her face twisted in shock. Charlie looked at her dumbfounded.</p>
<p>“Don’t you see, Liz, I did this for you! For us! I wanted to make sure I could always provide for you, the way you deserved. And I wasn’t hurting anyone, it was just a way of making a little extra money. People wanted a product and I found a way to supply it to them, that’s all. It wasn’t supposed to end this way!”</p>
<p>Lizzie stared at him, grief writ large across her face. “For me? I didn’t want this! I didn’t want any of this. I just wanted <em>you</em>. You saved me, Charlie. You helped me stop… But you, you took advantage of desperate people, Charlie! People who couldn’t say no, even if they wanted to. How could you?” She slapped him across the face then rushed over to the corner of the small room, placing her hands on the wall, trying to collect herself as far away from the crowd as she could. </p>
<p>Charlie registered the slap the same way a tyre registers a nail, by slowly deflating. When Hugh arrived a few moments later to arrest him, confused as hell to see his Inspector standing between his former wife and his former freight train, Charlie went without a fight.</p>
<p>He was being led out the door, past Jack, Rosie and Phryne, when Phryne stopped them, asking him a question which had clearly been bothering her. “Why didn’t you take the money back? Why leave it at the crime scene?”</p>
<p>Charlie shrugged. “It was underneath her and… I’d never touched a dead body.” He looked down. “I panicked and ran.” As Hugh led him out of the room, Charlie looked around once more for Lizzie, who was still alone in the corner. He reached out towards Phryne’s hand. “Please tell her I love her. <em>Please</em>.” </p>
<p>Phryne pulled her arm away and watched him go, her shoulders slightly slumped. Jack moved closer to slip his hand in hers and she held it tight. The puzzling it out was always a thrill, but the rest… the rest could be a lot.</p>
<p>Suddenly Prudence appeared next to Rosie, assessing all three of them with a discerning eye.</p>
<p>“So, this whole… estrangement was a ruse?” she asked.</p>
<p>Phryne nodded. “I’m so sorry, Aunt P. We didn’t think it would go on so long and then it sort of just got out of control. We didn’t mean to deceive you. Or anyone.”</p>
<p>Prudence sniffed. “Well I suppose in the name of justice, I can overlook it.” She gave Jack a once over. “And it does save me needing to break in a new Inspector.”</p>
<p>Jack choked on that and both Phryne and Rosie patted his back, stifling their own laughter.</p>
<p>“How did he get the idea, I wonder?” Prudence mused, watching the man being led down the hall.</p>
<p>“Well…” Phryne began. “As it turns out, Charlie worked for J.A. Imports several years ago.”</p>
<p>“John Andrews' company?” Prudence asked.</p>
<p>“The same. I’m guessing he nicked the idea from Lydia’s little nerve powder ploy.”</p>
<p>Prudence nodded, then looked around the room and sighed. “So another case closed, I suppose. But good lord, girl, can’t you find another hobby, like gardening or something?”</p>
<p>“I tried it, Aunt P, you wouldn’t <em>believe</em> what I dug up.”</p>
<p>Prudence huffed, but Phryne just put an arm around her and grinned.</p>
<p>The mood was broken, though, a moment later by a wail from across the room. Lizzie, it appeared, had finally had too much and had simply collapsed in a heap on the floor, sobbing. Jack took three long strides in her direction, intending to comfort her as he had a thousand victims before, but Rosie overtook him. She reached Lizzie first, sat on the floor beside her and drew the girl to her in a tight hug.</p>
<p>“How could he do that? How could I not have known?” Lizzie wailed.</p>
<p>Jack watched as Rosie rubbed soothing circles on the young woman’s back, and stroked her hair.  “It’s alright,” she whispered. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright. I’m here, we’re all here for you. It’s going to be alright.”</p>
<p>The girl just continued to cry, and Jack wondered what he should do to help, but then Rosie looked up and caught his eye.</p>
<p>Their shared look went straight to his heart. She had this. And she would be alright too. Jack nodded in understanding before Rosie turned her attention once more to Lizzie. Then he looked over to the door to make sure his partner was still holding her own against Prudence Stanley.</p>
<p>Phryne was gone.</p>
<p>---------------------</p>
<p>Back home in her parlour, Phryne took a long sip of her whisky and almost melted into the chaise. When Lizzie had collapsed, Phryne had decided to leave quietly, letting the others grieve and comfort each other without an audience. She’d accepted her aunt’s offer of a ride home, and now found herself at loose ends. A post-case drink by herself felt… wrong. Or at least unsatisfying. And Phryne Fisher did not <em>do</em> unsatisfying.</p>
<p>She debated calling up Mac; perhaps the good doctor wouldn’t mind some company, and in any case she wouldn’t begrudge Phryne the invitation. She was rising to do just that when there was a familiar knock at the door. She stopped herself from running to answer it — Phryne Fisher didn’t do <em>that </em>either, and besides spilling good whisky was practically a sin — but she didn’t dawdle either. She opened it to find exactly the person she’d hoped it would be.</p>
<p>“Inspector,” she greeted, opening the door wide. “Come in.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he said, absently hanging his hat and coat on their appointed hooks as if by muscle memory. “I’m sorry I didn’t… you found a ride home?”</p>
<p>“My aunt,” she explained, gesturing for him to follow her into the parlour. “I didn’t want to intrude any further. And I thought Rosie might need you.”</p>
<p>“No. No, but someone needed her. I made my exit shortly after you did.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Phryne handed him a tumbler of whisky and sat down on the chaise, patting the seat next to her for him to sit as well.</p>
<p>He took a sip, then huffed out a laugh. “Why does this feel awkward? It’s not like we haven’t seen each other.”</p>
<p>“No, but you haven’t been here,” she reminded him. “This was always our… our place. Since before we were us.”</p>
<p>“That’s true.” He looked around, frowning as he saw the mantelpiece. “You added a vase.”</p>
<p>“I did.”</p>
<p>“I don’t like it.”</p>
<p>She stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing at his own absurd little joke. She rolled her eyes, but still chuckled along, his laughter one of her very favourite sounds in the world.</p>
<p>“You’re ridiculous, Jack Robinson,” she groused playfully, swinging over to straddle his lap and run her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes at the sensation, still smiling from his quip.</p>
<p>“I’m yours, Phryne Fisher,” he said quietly, relaxing back into her touch, into their life.</p>
<p>“Good,” she whispered into his ear, enjoying the way he shivered as she did. “Are you planning to stay the night?”  </p>
<p>He nodded, eyes still closed, hands moving up her thighs to hold her waist. “If that’s alright,” he added.</p>
<p>“Of course,” she told him, her own hands moving to cup his face. “Sunday mornings are one of my favorite times of the week, you know. And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend it with.”</p>
<p>Jack finally opened his eyes, and the depth of love she saw in them stole her breath away. </p>
<p>She moved to kiss him and steal it back, and Jack made no attempt to stop the crime.</p>
<p>2 months, 10 days and 22 hours after he’d left, Jack Robinson was finally home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>“Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace.” May Sarton</p>
<p>Thank you all so much for sticking with the story, which basically answered for me the tropey question I asked myself a year ago: “what happens if I write a fake dating story <em>within</em> a fake breakup story and wrap the whole thing in a case fic? And furthermore, what if I then <em>combine</em> that with my special love for women supporting each other, former lovers who remain friends, and Aunt Prudence?” And the result was… this. 😂</p>
<p>Anyway, I very much enjoyed writing it and I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it! ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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